Clean
by Don
Summary: To ensure the safety of Crystal Tokyo, the Senshi have been forced to tamper with the human soul. Enraged and embittered, Minako escapes from her destiny to embark on a decade long journey of self-discovery.
1. Clean - Chapter 1

**********

Foreword

**********

I'll make this short given that there's little importance here.First

posted fic ever and I'm feeling pretty nervous.Anyway, if you like this

style of writing, mail me.If you hate it, mail me.If you don't know

what to think and want more, mail me.Be as cruel as you want in your

flames and be as generous as you want in your praises.All feedback

accepted.

First of all, I'd like to thank everyone who accepted this fic and 

posted it!Second, I'd like to thank my two editors Lita Juno and Bethany.

They provided an amateur, disillusioned, unconfident, aspiring writer with 

the inspiration to push aside his fears and begin posting.

Disclaimer: Everything associated with Sailor Moon is in no way, shape,

or form owned by me.I don't intend to make any money off of this; that's

up to the larger than life corporations out there.All that jazz about

Sailor Moon in tons of disclaimers out there apply.

email: doniswong@hotmail.com

Rating: R (mild swearing and illegal activities)

"Clean"

Chapter 1

A fanfic

by

Don

"Do you believe in happiness?"

I quickly turn toward my drinking companion and shake my head. "No. We

live, we die, and we pay all the way. What's the joy in that?"

Me? I'm a reporter for a U.S. magazine, The Globe.

Her? She's... she's... some lady I met tonight.

She asks, "Kind of bitter, aren't you?" and with good reason too.

Currently, I'm in Japan, a happy little world known as Crystal Tokyo to

be exact. In case you've been living under a rock for the better part of a

millenium, allow me to enlighten you on its origin.

A thousand years ago, a group of mini-skirt clad school girls, calling

themselves the "Sailor Senshi" saved the world from utter destruction. They

did it a few more times and we all called them heroes. They did it some

more and Japan became their official pet. They did it again and the Earth

fell to its knees in awe. They did it about two and a half times more and

formed a utopia called Crystal Tokyo. Simple story, really, I don't know

people are all in an uproar over their latest develop-

"So what brings a stranger like you to these parts?

I observe the olive floating around in the martini and pay no attention

to the lady. Besides, I want to be alone tonight and she isn't helping any.

"Hello? Earth to- What's your name again?"

She wasn't taking the hint. Might as well live with it. The last thing

I want is a crazed freak following me around asking for my name. "Evan

Wilson. People call me anything ranging from Ev to motherfucker. Take your

pick."

Her lips curl up at my coarseness. I could immediately tell that she

was Crystal Tokyo material, all brainwashed from the harsh reality of life.

Here, you have everything based on an honor system, but outside... you'd be

surprised at the sheer poverty and sadness lurking in the shadows.

"I think I'll stick with Mr. Wilson, thank you very much."

Do I sense a hint of annoyance? My, my, this place is getting more and

more interesting every second. "What's the matter?" I inquire while taking

a swing of my drink, "I thought all you people were suppose to be dolls and

not take offense to anything. What? Something messed up in your genetic

programming?"

Maybe I should elaborate. Twenty or thirty years ago, a group of rebels

calling themselves the Black Moon Family attacked Crystal Tokyo. They

weren't really powerful compared to the "Oh-So-Godlike" Senshi, but they

were able to convert many unsatisfied citizens, thereby continuing the war.

One of the dictators - Mars I believe - got the bright idea of "Purging"

the general population in the city to avoid more traitors. Of course, they

were able to do it. They systematically eliminated the id in each of their

citizens. The id, in case you don't know, is the animal within each of us,

the part of you that looks out for number one and not anyone else.

Imagine what happened after that. Their perfect society became a

gathering of perfect people... It makes me sick just thinking about it.

They killed freedom.

I can picture those devilish women-

"No, nothing went 'wrong' with my genetic programming." I realize that

it was a while before she answered my insulting question. "And I am NOT

from Crystal Tokyo, so lay off."

"Growing an attitude?" I smirk as she gazes menacingly at me. "If

you're not from this forsaken land, then what's up with the goody-two shoes

act?"

"What's wrong with being nice to strangers?"

"Everything!" God, this woman IS from Crystal Tokyo. "Have you seen the

world? At every corner, there's a parentless child begging for food. In

every house, there is a starving mother of five giving herself up to a

richer man's pleasures so that her children can eat a meager meal!

Governments are fighting amongst themselves; some try to solve problems,

others fight for bribes!!! The world SUCKS, you can't trust anyone! This

fantasy is the only place where you can honestly say hi to a person and not

get clubbed because you're wearing clean clothes!"

Sorry, I had to get a little passionate on her to prove my point.

"If you detest this place so, why don't you leave?"

"Can't," I reply, "My boss is making me do this segment on those bitchy

Senshi chicks. It's.... Forget it, you won't understand."

She lifts her beer up and downs it completely before prying. "Try me."

Well, at least I'll be talking to a drunk hooker who'll forget

everything I tell her tonight. "We suspect there's something wrong in this

heaven. Me being his only reliable onsight reporter, he's sent me here to

check out the place. We have our theories about what's wrong, but they're

only theories. I'm out to prove something."

"What's the theory?"

Should I tell her? Eh, who will it hurt? "One of the Senshi quit."

"Interesting," she says, "And what makes you think that?"

"For one thing, those infamous royal balls aren't being held anymore.

It's like they're retreating to a private life while at any other time in

history, they're living it up in the spotlight. There's bound to be

something wrong if they're doing that. No picture has been taken of them

for two freakin' years!"

"Twisted logic, but nevertheless, sound. And is this all you do? Dig up

dirt on people and try to topple Serenity's rule through your pen strokes?"

Good question. What am I trying to do?

"I'm trying to survive." That about sums it up. "Frankly, I don't care

about anything else. These Senshi can have their happy little world, I want

to live in my own."

"This is all for money? You're risking your life, flying all over the

world, dodging bullets, and sleeping in dumpsters because of money?"

"Yes." I wave the bartender over and pay for another drink. Maybe

cognac, or whiskey, or rum, or some sco-

"It seems you love your id."

"At least I have one. Unlike you, I'm fully human..."

From the look in her eyes, I say she took offense to that statement. "I

told you, I'm not from Crystal Tokyo."

Damn it, this chick is getting nowhere with me. She's asking a bunch of

useless questions that I don't have time to answer. She's probably one of

the Senshi's snoops that go to the "dark" areas of their city to dig out

"scum" like me. Don't pretend it doesn't happen; everyone except for the

inhabitants here know thought is carefully monitored. Better make a quick

exit before I'm "asked" to leave and shipped off the island... I still have

a story to cover.

"Leaving so soon, Mr. Wilson?"

"Yeah, I'd love to sit and drink, but I have a job."

"Will you be back tomorrow night?"

"No."

Cold? Yes, I agree, but like I said, Crystal Tokyo people aren't

suppose to care. You can say "Fuck you" and they'll ask whether-

From out of nowhere, I hear the lady mumble, "God damn no good high and

mighty reporter."

I decide to leave it alone and not pummel the snot out of her.

Everything is a conspiracy and I'll probably play right into their hands.

As I get up from my seat, I ask the bartender for a coin to use the

phone.

"Son," he says, pointing over to the corner, "Just use 'em all you

want. You don't have to pay."

Oh yeah, I forgot I was in "paradise." Everything minus booze is free.

At least, that's the only I've had to pay for so far.

Cab service... Let's see... 555-5555.

Strangely, this thing reminds of the old 20th century phones, nothing

like what I have at the office. No monitor, no voice recognizer, no

security features, just a stick with two ends. How do I know that I'm

getting the taxi service and not some crazed murderer tapping into the

phone lin...?

"Yes sir, this is Reiko from Crystal Tokyo's commuter department. Would

you need any help today?"

Crystal Tokyo... Right.... No hackers or murderers.

"Send a taxi over to where I'm calling."

"Would that be 555 Mercury Avenue?"

Damn, they even name STREETS after those dreadful Senshi! "Sounds

right."

"Anything else?"

Time for some fun. "Yeah, I want your body."

"Sorry sir, but I don't understand."

"You heard me, I want your body."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. Please don't be offended but I have

already-"

I hang up before she gets into her complete, unedited, and uncut life

story. Nice people are so fun to mess with.

After exiting the bar, I take a seat on a bench outside and wait for

cab. It shouldn't take too long, but I'd like to have my own car. Of

course, it'll have to be one of those solar cars that are completely safe

and gentle to the environment. Translation? It can't go over 35 mph and

would survive the brunt of a tactical missile. I'd probably drive one of

those if I was going to war, but not going to work. What ever happened to

the gas chugging Corvettes and stylish Eclipses?

My mind begins to wander for a better part of ten minutes before I

realize that the cab isn't arriving. What? I thought they had a network of

public transportation that eliminated the need to wait! God... Hypocrites,

all of them.

A clear thud comes from behind and I see the chick I was with stumble

out semi-drunk and not walking so hot. At least, that's what I thought

until I got a few more seconds to observe her.

As it turns out, her gait wasn't affected by liquor; she was a cripple.

In other words, in case you're completely ignorant, something was wrong

with her leg. Fine, so maybe I was wrong about her. There were no cripples

in Crystal Tokyo because everyone is born perfect.

Her condition turns the sympathy meter in my heart up a few notches, so

I ask if she needs any help.

I get a stabbing glare for my efforts. "No," she hisses, "I wouldn't

want to dirty your hands because I'm from Crystal Tokyo."

"Come on! Give me a break here! I'm trying to act nice and you're

shrugging me off!"

"All people should be treated equally, be they from Russia or Tokyo.

You, my friend, seem to be blind to that fact. If living away from this

bubble has taught me one thing, it's that people like you are the ones that

cause those orphans and starved parents to be where they are!"

Ouch. Now that stings. I never look at it that way, but then again,

when do I ever need to? "I'm sorry, ok? Afterall, like yourself, I'm

human!"

Since, I know she's not a crazy maniac and actually has a mind, I

invite her to join me on the bench. "Take a load off. I'm waiting for a cab

and can use some company."

Not seeing another place to sit, she begrudgingly accepts my offer and

mumbles an inaudible word of thanks.

"Well," I say, breaking the momentary silence, "You know all about me,

so what about you?"

"What about me?"

"A name would be nice."

She considers giving me a false name and I prepare to question her

first alias.

"Minako."

Minako? "So you're Japanese?"

"No, I'm Indian from the native land of Pakistan!"

"Touché... Any last name?"

"Aino. Minako Aino, Aino Minako - it's all the same, depends on where

you go, really."

"Minako Aino..." I roll the name over my tongue and find that it's a

rather lovely name. Exotic, yet quiet simple at the same time. Sure beats

all those Johns, Brets, and Gregs that I see everyday. Not to mention

Pauls. "Charming... At least I can pronounce it, unlike all those

Nakarkotomagsi whatevers."

Raising her eyebrow, she giggles a little and relaxes, "From all my

years of living here, I have never heard anything like that!"

Actually, her giggle sounds really childish, almost conjures up

memories of kids happily playing on a junglegym or something. If I didn't

know better, I'd say I'm beginning to get attracted to this female...

Might as well be direct. "What's your number?"

Again, a giggle, "Fast worker, aren't we Mr. Wilson?"

"Cut the Mr. Wilson crap. Sounds like a character from a campy kids

show."

"I won't give you my number, but I COULD use some company, especially

since I hold some of your... ideas... about the Crystal Tokyo population.

Meet you back here tomorrow? Same time?"

Can I resist such an offer? "Sure, you can bet your-"

A cab pulls up to the curb before I finish my sentence.

The thought of becoming a gentleman and scoring points with this young

lady crosses my mind, so I walk up to the rear door and open it. "Would you

like to step in? I'll take your cab when it comes."

She daintily accepts my offer, and regally - if you can envision that

at all, she's a cripple for God's sake! - enters the cab.

We wave a friendly goodnight and she departs.

Wow... What an experience. I just got hooked up with a beautiful blonde

who hated me mere moments ago. Maybe Crystal Tokyo ain't all that bad...

Ok, so it may still be bad, but one thing happened that was good. The rest

of it still sucks like none other.

Besides, where's that other cab?! I'm gettin' cold sitting out in the

night doing nothing! And unlike American cities, there are no outdoor fires

made by hobos or bodily warmth from foot traffic to warm the air! Come to

think about it, there's not a living soul in sight! Talk about terrible

night business; I wonder why and how this bar manages to-

"Mr. Evan Wilson?"

I turn around and spot two huge men towering over me. From their

uniforms, I conclude that they're part of the cities' police force.

"Speaking and soon leaving."

"Would you please come with us, sir?" one of the behemoths asks, "You

have violated clause 1417A of the tourism pact signed by the U.S. and

Crystal Tokyo in 2817-"

"I don't need a run down of history!" I interrupt.

"Very well. You are being charged with sexual harassment. Our vehicle

is over there, allow us to escort you over."

The LAST thing I need is this shit. Better play along and get it over

with. What can they do? They'll probably stick me in a video room, make me

watch something about the importance of speech, and send me on my merry

way.

Besides, I was looking to kill some time tonight.

*********

"... and furthermore, your actions display a clear malicious..."

I let the cop grumble on with his monologue. No use in stopping him

since he'll just politely silence me and continue. Are these pep talks

suppose to set people straight? I'm amazed that a hardcore con hasn't

walked in here and massacred all these people! Lord knows there's no lack

in crazy people on this desolate rock.

"... in concordance with clause..."

Whatever happened to that good old theory, "Innocent until proven

guilty?" I mean, they're hauling me in here on the word of some ten year

old operator who could be a professional swindler!

"... Crystal Tokyo does not condone..."

Hehe, yeah. This isn't the U.S. anymore. I've got to get used to that

fact.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Mr. Evan Wilson?"

The brief, fleeting idea of saying "Up yours!" to the hulking mass of

muscle and flicking him off comes and goes in my scatter-brained mind. I

may be itching to kill some time, but I'm not keen on killing myself.

"No officer," I drone insincerely, "Please forgive me for what I have

done."

Like I expected, he takes the pathetic apology as a heartfelt one and

proceeds to finish up the paper work.

10:37... I'll be out at 11, so I might still be able to catch midget

wrestling on the International Channel if I hurry back to the hotel.

"Ok sir, we only need your version of what happened before you are let

go. Please be honest."

This is way too easy. "I was sitting in a space ship eating cookies and

suddenly a gigantic glob of-"

"A plausible story, Mr. Wilson. If you're going to lie, at least do so

convincingly."

Cops. Gotta love 'em. "Fine, fine, fine, you got me. So I was at a bar

drinking, minding my own business. You know the feeling, kicking back with

some nice booze- Opps, my mistake, you guys don't know the meaning of

kicking back." I get an odd stare for that one. "Anyway, I was talking with

this chick and got bored, so I went to call a ca-"

"What was this 'chick's' name?"

"Why do you need her name?"

"Potential witness to your crime."

These guys expect me to incriminate myself?! This is hilarious!!!!

Through my laughter, I hear the man say, "I assure you, sir, that

unless you commit more serious offenses, you have been 'let off the hook,'

as they say."

"Ok, ok...." I wipe the tears from my face and spill it. "Her name was

Minako Aino."

And that was that. They let me go, I called a cab (Without the "sexual

harassment" part.), and went back to the hotel to enjoy a carefree night of

midget wrestling...

... until someone came pounding on my door.

**THUMP** **THUMP** **THUMP**

God, what kind of lowlife would come pounding on a person's HOTEL room

at midnight?! I swear, even if this guy is room service, I'm not going to

forgive him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, who the hell is it?"

From the other side of the door, "Crystal Tokyo authorities! Open up!"

I knew it! They were trying to incriminate me with my own words

afterall!!! "Up yours, pig!" I wail at the top of my lungs before bolting

to the window. I've heard horror stories about people from foreign

countries being forcefully "purged" and I don't want to confirm them.

"Look, you have five seconds to open this door before we come in there

and act REALLY pissed off!"

In another time, in another place, I would have found the threat

mind-boggling... But this is not the time, nor the place to think about it.

Grabbing my duffel bag, I hightail it to the patio and look for a fire

escape.

Just my luck, there was none!!!

What'll happen if an arsonist or terrorist bombs the place and-

Uh huh, Crystal Tokyo equals no bad guys. I forgot.... AGAIN.

"One... Two... FIVE!!!" Damn, that was the quickest five seconds I ever

had to go through.

I expect the door to fly open and come crashing down on my bed twenty

feet away, but instead, I'm treated to a familiar **click** followed by an

opening door. They probably had the key all along and wanted me to sweat

bullets.

The first two apes coming through didn't surprise me at all: they were

the cops that arrested me at the bar. However, the next two people were

quite a shocker.

For the past few weeks, I have been halfheartedly searching for Senshi.

Now, not one but two are strolling into my room! I don't know whether to

call this bad luck or dumb luck.

The brunette, the one wearing green, steps forward and asks, "Evan

Wilson, I presume?"

"Maybe, who wants to know?"

"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Sailor Jupiter. This is my

colleague, Sailor Mercury," she points over to a semi-shy person in the

back, "And you've met these two gentlemen before. We have a few questions

to ask you-"

"Hold it! I thought you said I was off the hook!"

"You are," she replies with a dreadful grin, "We want to know more

about the girl you met tonight."

The girl? Who does she- "Oh, you mean Minako?"

That relieved expression I got from the two Senshi could not have been

a good sign.

Jupiter makes a "shooing" motion with her hands and the cops leave,

closing the door behind them. I'm left in a room with two legendary figures

whom I despise.

Arrogantly, the brunette says, "Aren't you going to offer us a seat, or

are we suppose to stand all night?"

Play time! "I'd prefer you stand. It'll save you time when you find the

compulsion to walk over here and deck me in the head."

They didn't know whether to laugh at me or frown in disgust. So, they

simply took some chairs around the coffee table and sat while I stood

outside the patio, duffel bag in hand.

When all is said and done, I rethink my position in this place. From

the moment I heard about the Sailor Senshi in my infantile years, I thought

I could stand up to them. None of them were the imposing figures others

made them out to be. I always thought they were hyped-up rich people with

sticks shoved up their asses. Now, when I see them before me, there's some

kind of charisma, some kind of mysterious aura that's quite unsettling, a

quality that gets under my skin and sends shockwaves up every nerve.

Back in the day, I took a few self-defense courses and I remember the

way my teacher walked: silent, deadly, always alert. These two had those

same qualities, only magnified by about two hundred times... and believe

me, my kung-fu master was one freakin' imposing figure. He could be staring

down the barrel of an automatic shotgun and somehow still manage to pull

out enough balls to make the gunman run away in blind terror.

Imagine the trepidation I'm feeling now, standing into front of these

two people while they take their time visually picking apart my every

fiber. A lot of it has to do with those horror stories that I've heard over

the years; however, there's a side that no one will understand until they

actually meet up with one of these chicks.

My view of them immediately flies up a couple notches just through the

pure respect I'm giving them.

"Uhhhhh, what's this about again?"

Mercury glances up from her computer and states, "Aino Minako."

Minako.... The blonde I met tonight. What does she have to do with the

Senshi? What does a cripple have to do with a bunch of superhuman, thunder

slinging, mini skirt wearing girls like these two?! "Why are you looking

for her? Is she a terrorist? Part of the 'Black Moon Family' that went to

war with you guys a while back? Who is she?"

Jupiter sighs, "I assure you, Mr. Wilson, that we are not here to

conduct an interview for your newspaper. Who Aino Minako is does not

concern you." She turns toward her friend and examines the mini-computer

she's holding, "Are you ready, Mercury?"

A nod. I assume that's a bad thing?

"Alright," she continues, "I'm going to ask you a series of simple

questions. Answer truthfully or to the best of your knowledge."

She doesn't even wait for me to agree. "What does this person look

like?"

"Nuh uh," I reply, shaking my finger at them, "You aren't getting an

ounce of info until you tell me who this character is!" Hey, the journalist

in me took over for a split second.

The brunette groans, "She is a very dangerous individual, capable of

killing you in a heartbeat. She is also very skilled in evasion and has

hidden from us for..." She pauses, mentally editing the information, then

continues, "a long time. So far, you're the first person to see her."

I catch Mercury glancing up and frowning at Jupiter. What could that

mean? A disagreement between the two? Do I sense a slight bit of friction

flying around?

When I'm about to drop a bomb on them, I realize something crucial:

Minako is a cripple!!! "Wait a minute, you mean you guys couldn't catch a

cripple?!"

A brief moment of shock comes over their faces, but they hide it well.

If my attention span had been a little shorter, I would have missed it.

After shock, what's the emotion that comes next? Sadness? Relief? They

wouldn't be feeling that if Minako was a terrorist or someone against them;

however, I can't decipher anymore. They've put on stoic masks and are

approaching me with the utmost care.

"What did she look like?" Jupiter reiterates.

Eh, what the hell? I'll play along for now. "Long blonde hair, had some

of the largest blue eyes you'd ever see, and had a very nice giggle. In

case you didn't get it before, she walks with a definite hobble."

"What was she wearing?"

"Tight black skirt going down to the knees. A white shirt and a black

unzipped jacket that looked leather but probably wasn't. She also had a

pair of incredibly high heels."

"Nothing distinctive? No earring? No bow?"

Why do I get the feeling they already know everything about Minako

except where she is? "No, so stop pestering me about it."

"And this is at the bar you were arrested at?"

I roll my eyes, "No, this was on the moon!"

They ignore me on that one and go back to whispering among themselves.

Questions overtake my mind about the giddy girl I met tonight. What was her

connection with the Senshi? Was she lying to me all the time? Could SHE be

that missing Senshi I was talking about? So many questions, so little

answers, and only one way to find out.

"If you guys give me a day, I can show you where she's at."

Mercury and Jupiter whip around and gaze at me. Naturally, I smile at

their dumbfounded looks.

"Sometimes things require a man's deadly charm!"

*********

"Here we are, miss. Do you need me to wait outside for you?"

I hand the driver a tip and shake my head. "This will be a long stay,

you better get going."

Evan Wilson... Tabloid reporter and noted cynic of journalism. He turns

interviews into interrogations and cover stories into criminal

investigations. Funny, isn't it? I always hated the media, especially ones

of his breed, but now I find another kindred spirit in the most unlikely of

places doing the job I most despise.

Ironic, but life is fully of ironies. I should know...

"Ma'am? Are you alright?"

Shaking myself from the unwanted revelry, I step out of the car and

watch it blindly speed off to pick up another customer... blind like a

lemming. Like everyone else in Crystal Tokyo.

A pang of guilt strikes my heart as I flashback to that fateful day ten

years ago... I remember it like it was only yesterday...

People dying... Armies falling... Multitudes of trusted officials

leaking information to the enemy... Complete and utter chaos...

I still hear the cries. Cries of agony, despair, and desperation.

I still see the war...

"Minako! We've got to do something!!!"

Ami getting pinned down by a plethora of monsters...

"Save her..."

One of my commanders dying in my arms, begging for me to save his

wife...

"Don't clam up on us now!!!"

Me, huddled in a dark corner, wishing for the world to go away...

"Fall back!!! It's an ambush!!!"

Youma and demons popping up from all sides...

"Get out of the-"

A lowly ground troop diving in front of Wiseman's blast of energy...

"You're the leader! Do something!!!"

The Senshi all coming down on me for answers...

"Venus... Five thousand are dead... Two generals defected..."

Damage reports...

"You killed him!!!"

Heard too numerous times to count...

******HONK!!!******

I nearly jump out of my skin, but it's only a car... nothing to be

afraid of. Nobody is coming for me... the war is over; it only exists in my

mind.

Stranger still, the war is not eating away at my conscience. It's the

Purging.

At the time, it seemed like such a great idea. No more crime, no more

defectors, no more horror stories, just blissful happiness. We had heaven,

so why not make angels?

It wasn't until we accomplished our task did I feel the full effects of

our hasty actions.

Artificial smiles, phony words of condolence, false sense of freedom -

the Sailor Senshi had become what they fought, and I, as their leader,

never knew it. We became unwitting dictators and power hungry mongrels no

better than Beryl...

Justice became a lost cause...

Love was insincere...

Truth became lies...

I quit after the Purging; the rest of Senshi had no idea what happened.

One night I was laughing and dancing, then the next morning, I was gone. I

know they searched for me. I know they were and probably still are, lost. I

know leaving was cruel...

... but what we did was inexcusable.

In the matter of seconds, we dirtied our hands with the blood of

generations. Not only will the purging be felt by people of this time, but

their children and their children's children will never taste freedom. They

will never think for themselves. All they will know is the spoon fed

happiness that the Senshi force into their mouths... We killed them before

they were even born.

Am I angry? Maybe when I first realized what I did. I wanted to blame

it all on Rei... it was so easy - she suggested it, she pushed for it, so

she should take the fall. I'll be lying if I said I feel no animosity

toward her or the rest of the Senshi. I've just gotten over the hard part,

that's all.

Guilty - there's a word to describe my feelings. I took part in the

Purging, I approved of it, and I could have but didn't stop it.

Ten years... For ten whole years I've wandered the globe, trying

desperately to forget. I wanted to see some remnants of human emotion, be

it happiness or sadness. But, what I saw on the outside only made me feel

worse.

In here, there's utter blissfulness, so blissful that it's sickening.

In other countries, there's only despair and loathing. The general public

is so poor that... that... it's indescribable. There's the small population

of rich people, living off of the poor, taking advantage of them at every

turn. To tell you the truth, even the rich aren't that well off, and

surprisingly, they know it. The middle class? They're a rare breed of

people, hated by rich and poor alike. They have enough money so that they

won't starve but don't have enough to flaunt their wealth. The rich see

them as pitiful wannabe's, the poor see them as arrogant millionaires

living amongst their dilapidated huts.

What do they think about Crystal Tokyo? I actually had the nerve to ask

a few people. They look at it like some kind of twisted standard where

everything is the way it should be. They strive to maintain this land's

pristine condition and utopian ways, but they only succumb to deceit and

failure. There's too much working against them to succeed...

That's why I came back. I had this nagging faith in the Senshi, I had a

gut feeling that they somehow undid the Purging... but, again, I was wrong.

I came back expecting to see a shred of hope but ended up seeing my damned

handiwork...

After all that is said and done, I'm still no farther to the bar than I

am 10 minutes ago. Evan is probably drinking himself to oblivion and I'm

out here fantasizing about days long past. Don't you love it when you get

old?

I practice my limp a few times and walk around a bench. Part of my

cover - no one will ever expect a Sailor Senshi to hobble like a cripple.

Makes me look unthreatening and gets me the drop on lots of unsuspecting,

arrogant no-goods.

Satisfied with my performance, I push open the door and saunter in.

Funny, everything is quiet. No music, no people except for-

"Minako..."

I lift my head and almost yelp. In the back of the sultry room, Ami and

Makoto are seated at a spacious table with five chairs. Not exactly Ami and

Makoto, more like Mercury and Jupiter, but the effect is the same.

First instinct? Run. I don't belong with them anymore. I've hurt them

by leaving them without a leader. They probably feel betrayed. I feel... I

don't know what I feel. Happy to see them, yet not.

I yield to that thought and run, but before I can turn around, a strong

hand comes to rest on my shoulder. Battle senses kick in. I ditch the limp,

deliver a short elbow which is blocked, and roll forward in the middle of

the room. At least I'll have more space to maneuver-

Haruka and Michiru are leaning against the door. They snuck up on me

while I was shocked. Figures Makoto would come prepared; she's like a

hardcore girlscout.

The Sailor Senshi... How did they know I was here?! No one-

Evan Wilson... That little piece of-

I contemplate transforming and going toe-to-toe with four of my former

soldiers, but one look into their eyes and that idea flies out the window.

They're not here to fight; they came here to get me back.

Might as well dispel any ideas here and now.

"No."

Ami looks a bit hurt by the sudden refusal, but everyone else maintains

their composure. I think they expected to establish contact before I said

anything.

As always, Michiru swoops in to make the save, "We're not here to take

you back, Minako. We want to talk as friends, to catch up on what you've

been doing..."

Nice... They sense something is wrong and want me to simply sit down

with them instead of storming out. Judging by the poor expectation for

diplomacy, I'd say this was set up by Makoto.

"Well?" asks Haruka, slightly jittery, "Are we going to stand here all

night or are we going to get crackin'?"

Can I talk to them? Oh God how I miss their voices. I want to sit down

and laugh the night away, but I'm afraid I'll alienate them further. Ami

and Michiru MIGHT (One BIG might.) understand my predicament, but Makoto

and Haruka will tend to jump to conclusions. I... I... can't explain what I

want to say. It's so clear, yet confusing at the same time, I'm afraid

they'll take it wr-

"Please?" Ami begs, tears forming in her eyes, "We need you, Minako..."

Her voice trails off to a whisper.

Clean breaks. They're the best. I can never be a Senshi ever again... I

just can't do it. Guilt stains my heart and blood cakes my hands. I don't

want war, I don't want fake smiles, I don't want the world looking at me

anymore! I want to disappear, disappear back to a time when I still had a

shred of innocence and no one expected anything of me.

I cannot go back with them no matter what my heart wants.

"Minna..." Clean breaks are the best... "I should not, cannot, and will

not go back to the palace with you..." The Purging... Guilt... "Tell

everyone to stop worrying and stop looking. I'm fine, and always will

be..." Screams... Cries... Death... "This is my final warning and final

command to all of you..." Clean breaks... "Stay away..." Or what?

Remember... Clean breaks... No tears... Make them go away... "... or I will

kill you..." Tears... Shock... Hurt...

Silence... Then, "I quit."

We're all absorbing the news, even myself. I can't believe I said that.

Kill them? Would I ever raise a hand against any of them? Can I turn my

back on what I was destined to be? Am I being selfish, or am I right for

not supporting them? Are they still the people I knew or have they changed

for the worse? Should I give them a chance to explain?

Too late to find their answers to those questions. I just threatened to

kill them. I just turned my back on the Sailor Senshi. I'm being selfish. I

just made them think they're changing for the worse. I didn't give them a

chance to explain.

Clean breaks... They're the best, but are they the least painful?

Makoto growls under her breath, "Baka Mina..."

Ami is trying to look strong and has her mouth sewed shut.

Haruka shakes her head in disgust and leans further into the door.

Michiru is boggled and wants to know more.

Clean breaks... Can't lose sight of it now. I literally spat on a

thousand years of existence together. If this is not a clean break, I don't

know what is.

I don my indifferent, stoic expression, the one I've worn so many times

before to make myself look strong when I was shaking in my sandals... the

composure Sailor Venus used to carry around twenty four seven. I walk up to

the door and gaze up at the taller blonde.

"I'll be leaving now."

She looks down at me with pitiful eyes and calmly says, "You're not my

commander anymore, Venus. There's two ways to get out this door: with us or

through my dead body."

Five seconds after I make my threat and I'm called to see it through.

"Just tell us why," Michiru whispers, breaking the mounting tension

between me and Haruka.

Clean break... Don't make them doubt themselves. Don't stir up the

ranks. Don't explain it. They'll only hold you back for more explanations.

Either you'll shake their faith or they'll draw you back. Clean break... Go

your separate ways, never to meet again...

I say again, but this time with a malicious snarl, "I'll be leaving

now."

Figures. Haruka doesn't back down one centimeter. Rather the opposite,

she stands taller and gains more confidence. "Like I said, pick one of two

ways."

"Stop it you two!!!" screams Ami from behind.

Haruka glances up and Michiru raises an eyebrow. This is the

distraction I need.

Since they're standing quite close together, I throw a wide roundhouse

kick and nail both of them in the faces. I know my blows don't hurt too

much; afterall, they're powered up and I'm not. I'm only going for the

shock factor. With the two stunned, I barrel out the door and into the

streets, looking for a mode of transportation. My guess is that they'll

take to the roofs when they recover, which will be in the next few seconds.

I need place were they'll never suspect...

"Pssst! Minako!!!"

Evan steps out from an alley and motions me over. Seeing no other

option, I follow.

We dodge some obstacles, and halfway through, I hear the door to the

bar swing open. Up ahead, a cab is waiting for us and without a bit of

hesitation, we dive in and simultaneously tell the man inside to drive.

"Where ya young'uns goin'?"

Simultaneously, "AIRPORT!"

************

And that's how we parted ways. We didn't talk to each other. Somewhere

in the back of my mind, I hoped that she didn't know I gave her away. For

the first time, I actually felt guilty about getting a story, about

betraying someone.

Maybe it was her charisma or her mock-naive attitude. Maybe it was my

conscience finally catching up with my darkened heart, or my body fearing

for its life. I never knew why I felt sorry, but I knew I was.

From the bar to airport, she had her arms folded; her eyes were glued

on the window. Like I said, I hoped she didn't know, but she did. I was

fully expecting some kind of retribution...

... but it didn't come.

I had a mini-tape in my hand: it contained the entire conversation

between her and the Senshi. Did she know I taped it? Again, I was never

certain.

Like a bad dream, the car stopped and we got out. All my luggage was on

me since I semi-planned this out. As for Minako, she didn't carry anything,

only herself; I bet that was all she ever needed.

As we strode away from each other, she going toward the European gates,

me toward the North American gates, a faint pang of loss stabbed into my

heart. Another great girl gone because of my devotion to my work - that

makes an even twenty. But unlike the rest, I just couldn't shrug her off.

Everyone else I admired for the looks, but Minako, I loved her for her

mind... that questioning and sly yet ironically gentle and playful mind...

Loved... That was a funny word to use. I talked with her for less than

thirty minutes, but yet I loved her. A line from the conversation came back

into my mind.

"You're not my commander anymore, Venus."

Venus... Goddess of love. Was Minako the goddess' harbinger or was she

her avatar? Did Minako invoke a sense of love in everyone? Did she rekindle

that lost flame of human emotion in all whom she met? Did she work her

magic on me? Did I ever forget how to love?

Before I realized it, I was on a plane heading back to my native land.

I stared out the window to the next plane over and caught a glimpse of

Minako's radiant face as her flight taxied out to the runway. I swore she

waved to me. No, no, not one of those malicious, "I'll get you next time"

waves, but one reserved for a friend.

Immediately following hers, my plane took off into the night sky. As it

was leaving the ground, the rest of the fuku-clad band filtered onto the

runway, undoubtedly hunting for the golden haired princess. I took pleasure

in knowing we beat the odds and eluded the famous, infallible Sailor

Senshi.

Getting up from my seat, I made my way to the John, mini-tape in hand.

After locking the door, I dropped the source of my pain into the toilet,

pissed on it, and watched it flush away. I didn't feel any better. On the

other hand, I felt foolish for throwing weeks of hard work into the drain.

It was like an apology, a gesture of regret after the fact...

After the fact...

"This one's for you, Minako..."

***********

Afterword

***********

This is a saga that I would like to pursue; however, I want to gauge

reader reaction before I go on.Email me anything, even if it's just to

say hi.Regardless of reaction, I plan to post Chapter 2 of this fic, so

stay tuned (If you really wanted to know, it's a prelude to this story.

Each chapter takes place in a different country and documents Minako's

travels in the Crystal Tokyo era.).

Hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

-Don.


	2. Clean - Chapter 2

********  
Foreword  
********  
  
As if my fic hasn't been offbeat enough, this time I go way off the  
deep end. Please forgive me - this chapter fell victim to my slightly  
insane poetic/symbolic style of writing (complete with parallelism and  
lyrical passages). That being said, the following writing may be a bit  
difficult to understand, but from here on out, I promise to keep the poet  
in me bottled up.  
  
A little **IMPORTANT** background information:  
First, this chapter takes place ten years before chapter one. If you  
read the previous installment, you might remember Minako alluding to  
something about "traveling the world" for ten years, leaving the Senshi for  
a decade, "living outside [Crystal Tokyo]," or stuff to that effect.  
Basically, this chapter (and subsequent ones) will detail her emotional  
progress during her journeys across nations, sort of like a prelude.  
Second, please understand the Minako I'm trying to portray: a  
battle-worn, guilt-ridden, hate-filled, near-schizophrenic burnout looking  
for solace. Remember, since this chapter is year one of a ten year journey,  
Minako's wounds (like the war with the Black Moon Family and the "Purging")  
are still very fresh and painful - she hasn't had much time to think about  
them.  
  
Also, I'd like to thank everyone for their kind emails!!! Your feedback  
has provided me with a huge source of inspiration! And, as always, a big  
thanks to Bethany and Lita Juno, my editors! While this chapter hasn't come  
under their scrutiny (delayed writing on my part), I still appreciate their  
support, countless ideas, and overall greatness.  
  
Disclaimer: Everything associated with Sailor Moon is in no way, shape, or  
form owned by me. I don't intend to make any money off of this; that's up  
to the larger than life corporations out there. All that jazz about Sailor  
Moon in tons of disclaimers out there apply.  
  
email: doniswong@hotmail.com  
  
Rated: R (mild swearing and violence)  
  
  
  
  
"Clean"  
Chapter 2  
  
A fanfic  
by  
  
Don  
  
  
  
  
  
London, England. One of the most beautiful, historically rich, and  
architecturally grandiose places in the world. Heart of "Cool Britain."  
Leader of nations. Giant among giants.  
It was once said that the sun never set on the British empire...  
Once.  
History can be flattering, yet twice as brutal: London can attest to  
that. In a time long past, the city radiated like the brilliant sun,  
illuminating, eclipsing, and blinding all. Enemies trembled from their  
homelands, foreigners gasped at the sights, and natives reveled in the  
fear, attention, and respect. Now... Now this once great city stands - no,  
kneels! - in shame, refusing to lift its head up high. Once awe-inspiring  
works of architecture crumble and rot. Once indescribable paintings fade  
away. Once high and mighty kings, queens, and prime ministers resignedly  
slide into pages of a history text.  
Once proud people huddle together, wasting away in each other's misery.  
That was how I left London and that is how I return - dreary,  
depressing, dead. This is the world. Not prosperous, not blissful, not  
utopian, not anything like Crystal Tokyo.  
This is the world.  
Beggars rounding every corner, limbless children crying for their dead  
parents, thieves of the lowest pedigree looking for their next mark,  
murderers roaming the streets for their next kill - this is the world,  
sullen and evil.  
These people have no hope, no way of climbing out of this hell hole.  
Their brightest minds have migrated, migrated to a "safer" place. Their  
leaders have abandoned them to the city-stalking wolves. Their souls have  
been soiled by the corrupters who thrive on their blood, sweat, and tears.  
They are dead the minute they are born.  
Is this fair? Is this sad future the one I fought for? Is this what I  
want? Is this what Serenity wants?  
Maybe Serenity, but not Usagi... not the girl I once knew. No, never  
her.  
As I carefully trudge down the trash-layered, cobblestone street, dirty  
children cling to my black coat. They beg - wail - for food, money, and  
shelter. Their little hands dive into my pockets, searching for a money  
clip, wallet, change purse, anything. I disappoint them.  
One by one, they realize I have nothing on me, so they begrudgingly  
filter back into their makeshift homes of cardboard and tin. The adults  
take over now. Even if I don't have any money, my clothes will either fetch  
a decent price or provide ample warmth. They might even sell my body to the  
butcher for meat.  
Three men - one armed with a knife - rise from their perches and  
saunter behind me. I see the glint in their eyes, the feral, bestial, rabid  
glint of the devil. Humans were never meant to look like that, but  
countless generations of poverty, death, disease, and anarchy have turned  
man into beast. To those three men, this is normal. They have been taught -  
they are expected by society - to kill others for survival. This is not  
even survival to the fittest, rather survival to anyone who can survive.  
This is their way of life. This is all they know.  
My heart aches, I want to help them, but I can't... Not like this...  
Not like the way I helped Crystal Tokyo...  
Through the noise, I hear their steps. The sploshing of their boots,  
the dull thuds on the filth ridden cobblestone. Just as I am about to reel  
around and catch the first mugger with a right hook, a voice from behind  
them calls out.  
"STOP!"  
The bellow echoes in the dank, alley-like street. Everyone becomes  
silent, everyone stops moving. I turn and see the knife-wielding man slowly  
tucking his weapon away. They move aside, parting like the Red Sea. A  
figure clothed in pure white stands at the end of the street and slowly  
approaches me.  
I sense it. No one moves save for breathing. He is not imposing at all,  
yet the people seem to put him in high regard. His gait is arrogant,  
condescending. His eyes are focused straight at me, attempting to pierce  
through my body and examine my soul. He is like a petty aristocrat drunk on  
his newfound power and newfound friends. He reeks of classless ignorance.  
Finally, after an eternity of sauntering, we stand face to face.  
Actually, I am a bit taller, so he stands on his tiptoes in order to look  
threatening. The side of his lips curl downwards, but he quivers: it looks  
like he's crying when he's frowning. I resist the urge to laugh and smile.  
"Would you like to talk to me, sir?"  
"A... Are... You F... From Crystal Tokyo?" The kid was about twenty  
years old, but his voice was high like a boy's before puberty. He was  
unsure of himself, like a deer caught in a pair of headlights.  
Strange, why would anyone ask that here? "Perhaps," I reply, "What  
makes you think so?"  
"Y... Your clothes, they're clean. Your sk... skin, there's not a speck  
of dirt on you..." The more he speaks, the more confidence he gains. People  
begin to crowd us, murmuring amongst themselves.  
What do these people want? I gauge the situation and find it very  
dangerous. One wrong move and I can be poked full of holes and stripped by  
a roving band of robbers. Better answer neutrally. "I've been there."  
"You have?" he asks incredulously. A collective gasp escapes from the  
onlookers. "Pl... Please ma'am. F... Follow me..."  
The crowd parts, forming a human path down one side of the road.  
Without batting an eye, the boy pivots around and struts off like he  
accomplished something important. He expects me to follow. I don't.  
I shove some people aside and walk the other way, the way I was going.  
No use in following an upstart like that. He's probably some crazy cult nut  
out for an easy score.Odd, people around him seem to take offense to my  
action - they shout to the boy that I am not following him.  
While their attention is diverted, I slip into a dark alley, easily  
blending in with the shadows. His pounding footsteps and gasping breath  
pass me by. From some distance away, he shouts, "She's disappeared!!!" and  
back he sprints. Surprised muttering spews out from every crevice of the  
street; the formerly quiet avenue bustles with activity. Someone shouts  
something about an angel, then, the entire block breaks out into a chant.  
Quiet at first, but it soon swells into a Buddhist-like meditation.  
I briskly walk out the other side of the alley and continue on my way.  
I don't want to know what that was all about.  
  
**************  
  
"Why do I come back here?"  
My only answer comes from the roaring fire staring at me from its lair  
in the fireplace. Besides the occasional spit of sparks, the apartment is  
silent, forbidding. The place is decorated much like an old 18th century  
home: leather chairs, oak bookshelves, bronze statuettes, velvet drapes.  
Truly a remarkable spectacle in a place as morbid as this.  
Reclining into the soft cushions, I close my weary eyes and dream,  
dream of a time not long ago... not long enough. I have a nightmare about  
heaven, about its angels, and above all, about its saints. They torment me,  
haunt me, and lull me back into their fold, so deceptively yet lovingly at  
the same time. I want to return, but something in me - something  
indescribable - holds me back.  
Their seductive voices grow to that of wretched shrieks as I fall into  
a fitful slumber...  
  
------ Dream-------  
  
"Venus, we've got do something and NOW!"  
I buried myself into my arms and heaved a sigh. "Yes Rei, something,  
but what?!"  
We sat at the table - our normal, crystallized ten seat conference  
table - pondering our options. They numbered but a few. Ami rose to her  
feet and began rattling off numbers.  
"At this rate, we will suffer-"  
"Haruka," I said, nudging my second in command, "Is there any way to  
win this one?" As usual, I relied on the opinions of trained soldiers  
rather than that of statistical gurus.  
The woman shook her head. "Too many of our troops are turning traitor,"  
she whispered back, careful not to interrupt our resident genius, "If we  
knew where their loyalties were, I'd tell you."  
"- and further, our northern fronts are-"  
"Shimatta," I frustratingly hissed, "Why is everyone doing this?! I  
can't even trust my own generals!"  
"The Black Moon Family probably has some kind of brainwashing device."  
I wanted to believe that, and for a moment, I did. However, deep down  
inside, a little voices was chattering away, droning, "You know why! You  
know why!" like a childish kindergartner. Brainwashing device... it sounded  
so far fetched, yet so logical. Indeed, we, the Sailor Senshi, NEVER did  
anything wrong, did we? We treated all our citizens well. We stayed out of  
the business of other nations. We maintained political ties with the  
stronger countries.  
How, then, were we losing the war to an upstart band of societal  
outcasts and misfits?!  
"- so we must be able to-"  
Serenity sat to my left, her face plastered with worry. I knew a person  
like that could do no wrong, and even if she did, she'd make it right. A  
heart that pure and a mind so wise simply rejected wrong like a... a...  
"Minako!" Ami suddenly shouted, stopping her speech, "Are you  
listening?!"  
"I heard, I heard..."  
"What did I say?!"  
"Christ, is THAT important right now?!" I exploded on her, "Thousands  
of people are dying out there and we're sitting here on our butts listening  
to collateral damage speeches! I don't need to know how many more of us  
died! I can see that when I walk out this door! Shut the hell up and start  
cranking out solutions, NOT problems!"  
That was the first time I lost my cool like that. My flawed mind failed  
and went berserk.  
Silence followed... then Rei said,  
"I have an answer."  
  
Sea breeze whipping by, I strained my eyes to the furthest borders of  
our city. Riots... I was looking for riots. Ironically, I didn't have to  
look far; I didn't even need to strain my eyes.  
Disgruntled troops were already pounding on the palace doors, held back  
only by a thin line of quickly dropping loyalists.  
"Minna..." said Rei, taking a deep breath, "Are we ready?"  
Wordlessly, we formed a circle around Usagi who had her eyes closed,  
undoubtedly drawing from her enormous reserves of power. Pounding grew  
louder as we concentrated, pouring our strength into Her Majesty.  
I knew we were doing right. We had to be right: Usagi was with us.  
The thin line of loyalists gave way and the doors were battered down:  
the enemy had reached us with our own troops. Still, we continued on,  
pressing further, living and breathing on faith alone.  
Rei took over for Usagi, warping the awesome energy before us into a  
predetermined pattern. From what I remembered of her explanation, she was  
creating a large-scale version of an exorcistic ritual, one traditionally  
used by Shinto priests to banish demons from humans. With our combined  
power, she was positively sure that she could "undo" the Black Moon  
Family's hypnosis on our people. Not only that, but they'd be immune to any  
further attempts to alter their mi-  
Thundering footsteps charged through the halls below the palace's roof,  
where we were.  
I forced my mouth open. "Hurry up, Rei! They'll be here any second!!!"  
Immediately I regretted those words.  
With the wave of her hands, Rei dispersed her work into the hearts of  
our inhabitants. A sharp pain plunged into my heart, my eyes were sealed  
shut to dull the sensation. Screams rocketed from the floors below us...  
bloodcurdling screams. Bellows of agony filled the streets as people's  
souls were purged... Purged... Yes, that was a good word to describe this.  
We dropped to our feet, nearly fainting with exhaustion.  
Everything was silent. Everyone was silent. Everywhere was silence...  
Everyone and everything, save the voice I called my conscience was  
thrown into an eternal pit of quietus. All was silent...  
... but my heart roared like a rabid lion, encasing my mind, numbing my  
body.  
We did wrong and thought it right.  
  
--------End Dream-------  
  
I wake from my sleep, sweat - cold sweat - drenching my clothes. My  
world is crimson, turned that way by the blood of an entire civilization.  
Alone I murdered and massacred more in one day than I did in one millenium.  
Men, women, children, and fetuses indiscriminately fell before my blade of  
ignorance, crushed by my shield of pride.  
I blink, trying to rid the hazy film of red, but it returns as soon as  
my vision clears. I tear at my eyes, unwilling to accept my blinding  
ailment, thinking that whatever god put this curse on me would see my guilt  
and release me.  
Something is running down my forehead... Blood? Yes, blood, my own -  
blood produced by my hands, by my sharp fingernails, by my fitful sleep, by  
THEM.  
Hastily, I cover up the cut and wipe my eyes.  
Good, I can see again... but do I want to? I could be blind to world,  
live in one of my making. Why do I come here? Why do I stay in this sorry  
place? Why do I see?!  
Oh, the joys of blindness! To live and never to taste the bitterness of  
life! To feel a pile of refuse but think it a mountain of gold! I would be  
happy blind, blind to everyone but myself. I could attend to me and me  
alone because she is the only one I can help. Me, myself, and I.  
Happily releasing the pressure from the wound, I once again dance in  
the world of blood induced blindness. No god cast this burden on me: I  
discovered salvation! Never have I felt so free or chainless as I do now,  
impaired by my own bodily fluids. I have escaped - ran from the nightmares,  
fled from the world, and shut from the light.  
Such is my pleasure, to run. We all run from demons, but where else is  
there to go when you are your demon? There is only one escape: in the  
stomach of the monster. Be consumed, let it take you whole and you shall  
find peace... peace...  
... peace at long last... after a thou... thousand... years...  
  
**************  
  
Footsteps on ice cold floors echoed throughout the castle as the boy  
made his way to the throne room. Trepidation usually seized him when he  
walked down these halls, but today... today was different. He had something  
to give, something to report, something extraordinary to share; the  
Mistress would be proud.  
He passed stoic guards armed with ancient swords and clothed in even  
older armor. Boyhood fantasies overtook his mind; stories his mother used  
to tell him resurfaced. Chivalrous knights, heroic rebels, daring bandits -  
he was amazed that he was actually living out these age old tales. To put  
on the historic breastplates, to wield the legendary swords - it was purely  
enchanting... enchanting.  
As dreams of beautiful princesses and indescribable maidens seeped into  
the boy's fantasies, a line of haggard commoners passed him by, bringing  
him back to reality. This was no time to dream: his find must be reported  
at once.  
Resolve renewed, he stalked toward his destination, stopped only by two  
of his peers standing watch at the doors.  
"Norman," one of them drawled with a speech impediment, "W- Wh- Wha  
brings you here?"  
The boy smiled. "I found someone from Crystal Tokyo."  
With no further ado, they admitted him inside for an audience with  
their leader.  
Upon hearing the doors close, Norman's determination and pride left  
him; his knees slackened and his throat became dry. No one else was in the  
throne room... save the Mistress.  
The boy remembered her as an old woman who spoke with a harsh whisper,  
nothing more. No one really knew how old she was; people only knew she was  
elderly because they saw her crumpled hands. A large hood constantly  
blocked her face - there was even a rumor going around that she was the  
ugliest thing on earth. However, no one could contest the fact that she was  
rich, knowledgeable, and dangerously powerful.  
Her official cover story was simple: she was a former advisor of Queen  
Serenity, sent outside of Crystal Tokyo to help struggling peoples.  
Everyone worshipped her because those who did were guaranteed great riches  
and free passes to the mythical Crystal Tokyo. In a land of cutthroats,  
beggars, and hopeless peons, her proposition found much favor, evolving  
from a humanitarian mission to a nation-wide cult. What began as an  
exclusive club became a religion, a way of life. Crystal Tokyo was heaven.  
The present place was hell. God was Serenity. The saints were the Senshi.  
The angels were its inhabitants. She was their savior, their Mistress.  
Simple as that.  
The Mistress ruled with an iron fist, demanding supreme loyalty from  
all her underlings. There were no challengers to her power: all who  
complained never resurfaced. Normally, there would have been plenty of  
rebellions and coups - enough to end her reign - but the meager life she  
provided was a vast improvement over the population's current condition.  
Everyone was content.  
"Yesssss?" hissed the small figure seated atop the throne.  
The tone of voice sliced through the boy and put his nerves on edge.  
Without thinking, he dropped to his knees. "Mi... Mistress, I... I..."  
"Ssssspeak boy. Do not be afffraid..."  
If he didn't know better, Norman swore that the woman was enunciating  
certain syllables to make herself sound more forbidding. "I was on pa...  
patrol today and f- found s... some... someone from Crystal Tokyo."  
"Hmmmm? Isssss that ssssso? Where issss thisss persssson?"  
"She disappeared into thin air!" the boy said enthusiastically. Passion  
of a religious vision overtook him as he leapt to his feet. "And by  
Serenity was she beautiful! Her walk, her posture, her confidence, her  
appearance - she was an angel, Mistress, an angel! I'd soon as-"  
The Mistress waved her hand to cut off the rambling boy. "What did  
thisss angel look like?"  
"She had long blonde hair that shined like gold! Her eyes were sky  
blue, as clear as the countryside heavens! Her mouth was..."  
"Come closssssser, boy, sssssso I may sssssee you."  
Norman swallowed hard and lost all his passion. Cautiously, he took  
baby steps until he reached the steps in front of the throne.  
"Clossssssser."  
He took one step up and stopped.  
"Continue, boy! I have no intentttiiiion of waiting the whole  
dayyyy..."  
After an eternity of climbing, he was in arm's reach of the Mistress.  
Turning her palms up, the woman concentrated and produced a small  
floating globe of red energy. The boy, transfixed by the anomalous sight,  
stood dumbly still.  
"Touch it, boy."  
No more prompting was needed. On contact, the sphere twisted and  
contorted, forming the outline of a human. Slowly, it molded itself into  
the likeliness of Norman's latest discovery, into the likeliness of his  
angel.  
The Mistress gave a small laugh, but it quickly grew into a sick,  
roaring sound. The boy fell backwards, stumbling down the stairs in  
absolute terror; before he knew it, the doors were opened and he was  
outside.  
Her voice suddenly boomed from all directions, alerting the inhabitants  
of the castle like an alarm. "Find the one from Cryssstal Tokyo," she  
ordered, "and bring her to me..."  
  
**************  
  
The boy tiredly entered his quarters, exhausted from his eventful day.  
His room was large, a full twelve by twelve feet. It was pure heaven,  
complete with a three by five bed and a privileged luxury called "indoor  
plumbing." Many would kill for these quarters: indeed the boy had. The name  
of previous owner eluded his memory, but the past was inconsequential -  
only the present was important. The past held buried skeletons, and even  
the youngest of minds knew never to disturb a grave.  
Settling down at his desk, the boy withdrew a text - his only text -  
from the locked drawer. It was a leather bound book brimming with browned  
pages of soiled paper: neither author nor title was on the cover. He never  
needed a author or title: he was the author and the title was "My Novel."  
This was his life, his proof that he existed.  
When the sun grew faint and the moon reared its vengeful head, Norman  
would write about the day, write about happier times. Him being a Follower  
of Serenity brought him great respect, a feeling he cherished. It kept him  
warm in the harshest of storms, be they from the wrath of Serenity or from  
the wrath of men. He loved to feel wanted, important; he was a cut above  
the rest and he loved to flaunt that fact.  
That was another reason he loved to write. He was important. From his  
birth, the boy always could see his distinction from the norm. He had both  
parents - an uncommon occurrence at best. He had money - a true rarity  
indeed. Now, he was part of a respected, though widely feared, religion.  
Yes, he was better than everyone else. Every one of his days was special  
and noteworthy, not sad and pathetic like the rest of society's. He was  
doing posterity a favor by dutifully recording his life, recording it so  
they can bask in all its glory.  
Tonight, the boy had plenty to write. He wrote about the Mistress,  
about Serenity, about his angel... his angel... oh, his beautiful angel  
with hair of gold and stature of delight. He could see her now floating  
through the moonlit sky like a pale ghost, gracing the city with her  
presence. For all his life, others taught him about these perfect creatures  
created by Serenity. They were elegant, beautiful, forgiving, omniscient,  
and... and... perfect.  
"You are all angelssss..." the Mistress once said. Her words became  
their credo and the basis for their beliefs. The boy, and all the other  
Followers of Serenity, were angels... only, they were fallen and misguided.  
"Come with me," she said, "and I will sssshow you the light..."  
He hadn't seen the light, but at the moment, the darkness was feeling  
pretty damned good.  
Closing his novel, the boy rested his tired eyes before glancing at the  
clock. My, my... five hours into the night already. Proudly, Norman gazed  
at his addition to his literary masterpiece: a whole half page of writing.  
He was improving.  
To think, he - probably the most educated one in the castle - was  
improving. Impossible, and therefore, quite noteworthy. He etched another  
three words before retiring.  
"I do good."  
  
**************  
  
I flutter my hazy eyes, or try at least; I find that they are bound by  
lead weights. For a second, I want to scream in terror, but the past few  
hours come back to me. Yes, I remember now - the blood and the escape, my  
damnation and my salvation.  
Blindly, I stumble into the bathroom and splash myself with some cold  
water from the sink. The dried, caked blood melts away, revealing a  
haggard, rabid, and twisted me.  
I hate mornings.  
I also hate it when I get have those dreams... those god-awful  
dreams...  
After plunging my head into the river of running ice water, I grab a  
towel and wipe my drenched face dry. Good. No more blood.  
Checking the gash on my forehead, I notice a scab already; it sure  
healed quick. By tomorrow, my drunken, poetic frenzy for escape will be  
erased and forgotten. That's even better. Memories are bad; forgetfulness  
is good. Ten centuries of harsh living has taught me that invaluable  
lesson. The past is always better than the present, so bury the years gone  
by and face the moment at hand - you'll feel better even if you aren't.  
Exiting the bathroom, I relocate my perch on the armchair, the one in  
front of the dying fire. Heat given off by the bright embers dries my hair  
as I gaze out into the open street below. A courtyard is there - gated and  
guarded of course - brimming with modern day high society. I watch men and  
women daintily court each other while young boys play some sort of ball  
game. Their demeanor is a parody of nineteenth century English nobility,  
what with all the incessant bowing and horribly thick (not to mention  
diverse) accents.  
I give a tiny laugh at these pitiful people. Their acting is extremely  
amusing, especially when they try to assume sophisticated attitudes.  
Whether in speech or in gestures, these individuals - these richest of the  
poor - mock themselves, outwardly embarrassing themselves while inwardly  
beaming with pride. How pathetic...  
... and strangely heart-wrenching.  
I watch a mother - a vain, make-up filled, nearly painted woman - grab  
her child from the grassy area and savagely admonish him. So loud is her  
voice that even I, four stories above the ground, can hear her words.  
Something about being proper if I'm not mistaken, about being a well  
groomed boy and not a nobody like the "trash outside these walls." Of  
course, expletives of the foulest kind were casually peppered in, stuff a  
sailor would think twice before saying was freely used to scold the boy.  
Funny, yet discomforting. Like watching a guy who thought he was  
Superman try to fly... and then watching him fall forty stories to his  
gruesome death. Dangerously amusing.  
Suddenly, tears fall from my eyes. Subtle at first, but they grow into  
streams, sliding down my cheek like droplets of freshly fallen rain. I sit  
there, suddenly wondering whether or not I was the cause of all this. THIS  
- this as in the terrible acting, the pathetic conditions of people's  
lives, the Black Moon Family attacking, the murderous glint in everyone's  
eyes, the child being scolded by the mother. This, as in everything wrong  
with the world today.  
I fondly think back to days of old, days of youthful vigor and teenaged  
worries. Was there ever anything like this in those times? Before we, the  
Senshi, came along, was anything amiss to such an extent as THIS? Did man  
ever lose themselves? Did our lives ever threaten to degrade to this low  
level? No... Things went downhill when we showed up. Because of our lofty  
ideals - foolish dreams of love and peace - we carelessly destroyed  
everything; only a tiny bit we saved, and even then, we only saved that bit  
because we wanted to feel superior over something.  
It makes me sick now that I think about it. Without me - and indeed  
without "them" - none of this great suffering would be in existence. Man  
would continue on as always, improving their lifestyle with each passing  
generation. Humanity was never meant to walk into heaven in one step;  
Crystal Tokyo was never meant to happen overnight like it did. A "perfect  
society" in an imperfect world can only lead to trouble.  
Why didn't I see that centuries ago?!  
Those NOT in "heaven" would grow bitter - like the Black Moon Family -  
and lash out. Those in "heaven" would grow tired and unhappy because of  
human nature! We all need change and we all need excitement; when that  
dangerous, unpredictable edge to life is lost, we inherently become  
discontent. Nature is that way - a balance of order and chaos. Man cannot  
stray from nature...  
... unless man himself is changed, or in this case, "Purged."  
Damn... Damn it all! Rei and her ideas! Stupid, arrogant Rei the  
charlatan! If she were here - oh if only she were here - she'd feel the  
pain I feel right now. I'd show her my wrath, make her see through my eyes  
what suffering she has caused. I'd make her find the happiness she killed  
in Crystal Tokyo. I'd make her repent for every soul she made me kill, for  
every moment I felt the deep, stabbing wounds of guilt burning as if on  
fire. I'd... I'd...  
I'd better get some fresh air.  
Before I know it, I am outside the door locking, bolting, and securing  
the entrance to my lavish condo. I bet all the "rich abodes" in this  
complex combined don't add up to value of my home. And to think, this is  
all old, unused furniture I moved here three, maybe even four hundred years  
ago. Talk about foresight.  
With the bright shine of the sun, my rage simmers and dies to a mere  
agitation. Remarkable what a bit of warmth can do to a body.  
"Excusez-moi madame, but aye never seen you around 'efore."  
In front of me is a man wearing an old English velvet and high white  
stockings. Hell, he even had the white wig going, although it was a little  
frayed around the edges. I couldn't help but chuckle at the man's coarse  
Irish/English/French accent... not to mention his failed attempt at  
combining the three styles of speech.  
"Pardonnez-moi," he drawled in all seriousness, "but uhhh... what tiz  
zo funny?"  
Great, now he was throwing in a Spanish accent!!!  
"Could ya shut yer yakkin' and tell ma what's so funny, ya damned  
whore?!"  
Ignoring the man, I exit their guarded community and saunter into the  
"better" parts of London. There are still homeless people, orphans, and  
shady individuals, but they are hurriedly killed or shooed by the armed  
patrol milling through the area, protecting their "rich masters" from harm.  
Bodies are quickly disposed of, where I don't know. I don't want to know.  
A guard casually walks by and tips his hat to me; behind him, he drags  
the corpse of a young boy. The postmortem gaze burrows deep into my soul  
and carves a hole in my guilt-riddled heart. I turn my head away, unwilling  
and unable to look any further.  
He would be about Small Lady's age...  
I increase my speed, trying to escape from the sight. No matter how  
much death I see and produce, a child's body always destroys my emotional  
defenses. At least I know I still have a conscience unlike some "other"  
people I know...  
*THUD!*  
Damn my klutziness! I thought I got past it egos ago!!! I look at the  
person I knocked to the ground and offer my hand.  
"I'm so sorry. Wasn't watching where I was going and I guess I just  
crashed into you."  
The man has a dumbfounded look on his face, like one of recognition.  
"YOU!!!" he screams, though not out of terror.  
Me? What about me? "Yes? Look, just get up pal. Your nice white cloak  
is getting... getting..."  
It's that kid from yesterday, that crazy cult nut from the streets. I  
almost didn't recognize him in the light.  
"My angel!" He crawls through the muck on the ground and latches onto  
my leg. "I'm not worthy of your glorious presence! Please, let me-"  
I better stop his ranting before someone sees me and thinks I'm in  
cohorts with this freakshow. "Get off of me this instant! I'm going to give  
you three seconds before I seriously hurt you!"  
Reluctantly, he backs away and remains seated. Good.  
Resisting the urge to kick him in the face (given that he did catch me  
in a pissy mood), I go back in the direction of my condo, confident that  
the armed guards would be reason enough for him to stay away. Rather the  
opposite, however: the guards respectfully tip their hats to him as he  
races in my direction.  
Without further prompting, I run. I don't want to know what he's all  
about, and frankly, I don't care either.  
Huffing and puffing, he relentlessly pursues. "D... Don't run!!! I...  
Our... Our Mistress wa... wants to *breathe* see *hack* *cough* you!!!"  
Their "Mistress" wants to see me? That's too weird for my liking.  
Effortlessly, I summon a little bit of my Senshi powers and leap onto the  
roof of an eight story building. He won't - and can't - follow up here.  
As I turn around to face him, I see that he hasn't come alone: perhaps  
fifteen other people wearing similar white cloaks are standing there gazing  
at me, their jaws dropped down like released hinges. Not wasting a second,  
I bound onto the rooftops of other building, escaping from their  
worshipping eyes. They follow.  
Actually, the group I previously saw doesn't follow, rather, more of  
their kind pours in from the streets. Their pounding of feet... it sounds  
like a soldier's death march. Their screaming and yelling... almost battle  
cries. I feel surrounded, captured, imprisoned like an animal. Scenes flash  
before my bloodshot eyes, scenes of a war not long ago - not long enough. I  
remember death and dying, quietus and quivers, bodies and... lots and lots  
of bodies...  
They wear the color of white, the "official" color of Crystal Tokyo's  
troops. They swarm around the bases of the buildings I leap to. Ten... no,  
twenty! No... too many to count. Wherever I go, more of them appear!  
Desperately, I fumble for my communicator; it's not there. IT'S NOT  
THERE!!! They raise their hands, preparing to do in me no doubt, preparing  
to drag my ice cold corpse off to that vile Wiseman as a prize, as war  
booty. Feverishly, I scream their names, hoping that one of them would be  
around.  
"AMI!!!"  
"HARUKA!!!"  
"ANYBODY?!"  
No... they couldn't be gone too, it's just not possible. Where did they  
go?! I could have sworn I saw Ami in the back, cautiously striding along,  
being my rear guard. But, what of Haruka? She went off first as a scout.  
Damn this thick terrain! Couldn't the battle have taken place somewhere  
open?! Where is everybody?! Oh God, where are MY troops?!  
Suddenly, I'm surrounded by darkness lit only by the torches of white  
below. Those people down there... they killed them... They got Ami... They  
got Haruka...  
To hell with them! They're not going to get me too!!!  
I raise my hand up to the sky and feel the powers of Sailor Venus wash  
over me. This is war... why wasn't I transformed already? No matter. There  
is a time for answers and time for action.  
This was most assuredly a time for action.  
Jumping into the maddened fray below, I cut down the murderous  
warriors. Not one of them will survive my wrath, not after what they did.  
They have already breached the frontier, and I'll will not let them get  
past me, past me to Crystal Tokyo... past me to my queen.  
Rays of golden light streak out from my hands, raining death onto the  
massive crowds. They turn to flee, wailing like the dead men they are.  
There's a large packet of them huddled in a corner; I use my chain to snare  
them before drilling holes into their heads.  
I continue my crusade, crushing all these... these... innocents?!  
My eyes revert to their normal color as my body loses its battle-high.  
All around me, the ignored scene fizzles into view; I'm not in heavy  
foliage, rather, I'm in the city. For a second, I glance at the  
environment, thoroughly and utterly confused at my location. Then, my sense  
of reality kicks in.  
The war... the war with the Black Moon Family... it's over. This isn't  
Tokyo. This is London. The war has been over for a full five months, this  
is not the war.  
Well then, what is this?!  
I step in something sticky, namely blood. Hesitantly, I gaze all around  
me and observe the streets - streets filled to the brim with corpses. I  
count... too many. White cloaks splashed with blood taint my eyes and burn  
my soul the more I realize what just happened. I went berserk, insane! I...  
I...  
Something shifts behind me. Instinctively, I charge a beam of deadly  
energy and prepare to fire at the target. Before I do the unexplainable,  
however, I regain control of my composure and dissipate the blast.  
Besides, it's only the boy, the freaky cult nut that started this whole  
thing.  
"P... Pl... Please," he stutters while on his knees, "D... Don't  
kill... kill me..." His voice tapers off into a pathetic whisper.  
With left ear torn off and right arm bent precariously, he is living  
proof of my sins. He reminds the world of what happened here today, of what  
happened to countless innocents. I lose myself and cry, tears pouring from  
all facets of my mind. He is scared: too scared to say a word. I am... I  
am... a demon of the worst kind.  
Quickly, I escape, leaving the gruesome massacre behind. Using all my  
skills ever learned, I run, futilely burying the ugly, shameful past.  
What's done is done; it can't be changed. Best leave skeletons of days gone  
where they lay.  
Even the youngest of minds know never to disturb a grave.  
  
*************  
  
I find myself back in my condo. Am I crying? I'm so numb, I have to  
check by feeling for tears. Sure enough, there's a river on my face. So  
scared... so alone... so.... so hateful...  
Incessant shivering dulls any other sensation in my body; no matter how  
many logs of wood I put into the fire, I remain at an ice cold chill.  
Remnants of the war fade out of sight, out of mind. I knew my battle scars  
were deep, but never did I suspect this deep. Today, I killed so many  
people because of my uncontrollable pain. What of tomorrow? Will I lose  
myself again? Will I be plunged back into a forgotten field of murder? Will  
I ever find solace? Will my heart heal?  
Look at me. What am I? Am I just a soldier? A mini-skirt grunt adept at  
the art of death? Yes, that's all I am - an instrument of the reaper, a  
sower of sorrow. I was created to fight, to win. I was reincarnated to  
fight, to protect. I want to die because I can't bring myself to do those  
horrible things anymore: I am a spent weapon, useless and burdensome.  
Perhaps it's best I leave this place, leave all my memories behind.  
Start over maybe - go somewhere in the world where I'm not see or heard.  
I've always wondered what would become of me had I not become this...  
monster. Now it's time to find out... before I hurt anyone else.  
I consider taking something with me - a memoir, like a plate or article  
of clothing or picture or book, something. No, I don't need anything; I  
don't want anything. If I'm going to forget the past, I'll have to start  
with the present. Destroy "now," and "later," "then" won't be there  
anymore. What a novel concept.  
Nonchalantly, I pick up a picture - you know, one of those old pieces  
of glossy paper that a camera produced. It's of me and Usagi winking at  
Luna and Artemis. If I recall correctly, Rei took this photo while hiding  
behind a tree. It's was a cold winter day and I was wearing a matching  
purple-  
NO! NO! NO! I'm here to forget, not remember! Damn my eyes! Damn this  
picture!!!  
Thrusting the flammable antiquity into the roaring conflagration, I let  
the flame lick my object of hate, burning it to a crisp. Before it's  
entirely consumed, I throw the fireball onto my favorite armchair... my  
favorite, cloth and wood armchair. Within seconds, smoke fills the air,  
making it unbearable.  
Somehow, it seems awfully invigorating to me.  
I leave, never to see this room, this sad reminder of my life, again.  
  
*************  
  
As the sun slowly set behind the concrete horizon, the boy stumbled out  
of an alley and into the abandoned streets. He was tired, spent from his  
day of constant running, running from his angel of death. Hesitantly, he  
gazed up and down the lifeless road, afraid that a sudden shower of golden  
light would end his life, his oh-so-important-and-significant life.  
Where was he? No time to answer that now; the thick smell of decay  
still hung ominously in air. He wasn't far enough from the killing field.  
Along the trash-filled, smelly streets he walked alone and unattended.  
His open wounds had long since coagulated, but the moment of utter fear, of  
complete helplessness, had not been erased. For all his life, he was taught  
about his importance; mere hours ago, he saw how pathetic his life was.  
Begging, imagine him BEGGING! And for his life too...  
... how embarrassing.  
To think, his existence could have ended with a flash of energy. It  
wouldn't have taken more than a second - indeed, it didn't take the rest of  
his fellow believers THAT long to die. What made him different? Nothing.  
What made him better? Nothing. When death came knocking, everyone became an  
equal in her colorless eyes. Everyone had the same chance at dying... but  
being left alive, to wallow in the shame of defeat, beggary, and  
humiliation, was far worse than crossing into the afterlife.  
"Sssssso boy, you have failed..."  
The boy whipped about, astonished by the Mistress' sudden appearance.  
"N... no... Not exactly..."  
"Excccuuussseeesssss!!!" the frail woman screamed, suddenly becoming  
sturdier, "You didn't bring her back to me!!!"  
"But she- I really..."  
"Sssstop your liesss!!! I don't... tolerate... your kin-"  
For the second time in a short frame of time, another unexpected soul  
stepped into the street. Another soul inhabiting the body of a blonde  
woman.  
  
***********  
  
The boy... again. No good ever seems to stem out of that nutcase. But  
then again, I shouldn't be so harsh; afterall, didn't I just butcher his  
friends? The least I could do is apologize to the kid despite his  
arrogance, cowardice, and stupidity. Yeah, sort of like a consolation prize  
that says, "I'm sorry I killed everyone you know. Here, have a cookie."  
Wait a minute, who's that he's standing in front of? Whoever it is, he  
or she is scaring the shit out of him. I move closer, close enough to sense  
the unmistakable, foul, and evil aura surrounding the cloaked figure. Don't  
think I didn't miss the thing about "bringing her back to me" either!  
Whatever it is, the boy doesn't stand a chance. I'd better interrupt  
this conversation they're having. Maybe I can train myself to do some  
good... for once.  
"Hey," I say, catching both parties by surprise, "Are you looking for  
me?"  
Understandably, the boy gets thrown into hysterics; upon hearing my  
voice, he goes bolting into an alley, much more afraid of me than the  
person he was facing. As for the thing with a neon sign hanging on it's  
forehead flashing, "I'm evil!!!"? He stays perfectly still... or should I  
say she?  
Deducing from the previous events transpired, I say, "The Mistress, I  
presume?"  
Ignoring my question, the woman gives me the once-over, appraising me,  
sizing me up. I do the same.  
Typical bad guy, or in this case, bad girl. Dark, hooded robe, crumpled  
up hands, snake-like voice, slightly hunchbacked - how much more cliche  
could she get? The only remaining question is-  
"Yessss, I am the Mistress..."  
Question answered. No, wait, there's more. "What do you and all your  
cronies want with me?"  
Her eyes suddenly light up, prompting me to fall back into a defensive  
position. What am I suppose to do here? What am I going to do? Transform  
and kill her? Maybe, but...  
She laughs at my startled reaction, "You are one of them," she states  
as a matter of fact, "Venus to be exact."  
"And what of it?! Who are YOU?!" Oh boy, I'm starting to get this bad  
feeling, a feeling that says she's part of the remnants of the Black Moon  
Family. Call it woman's intuition or plain obviousness; besides, she  
dresses like the Wiseman... go figure.  
"Me?" she asks, "Why Venus, I am the demon who haunts your dreams, the  
tainted child no one wants to remember. To my pawns, they know me as the  
Mistress. To you, I am but a mere flee, a thorn in your side."  
I spit through my grinding teeth, "If you're a flee, then be gone with  
you!"  
"Be gone? Yes, I will be gone... after I exact revenge for my fallen  
comrades." Her voice noticeably quickens to a point of near frenzy. "I will  
spill your blood for all their sakes! We may have been defeated, but our  
cause will always live on! One day, when your precious queen lies on her  
bed, we'll strike like thieves in the night, finishing what we started! The  
seeds of your fall have bee-"  
She's talking too much... which translates into a perfect time for me  
to strike! With awesome speed and strength, I charge into her, effectively  
bowling her over and stopping her rant. Given that I am in much better  
physical shape than she is, I manage to recover and pin her to the ground  
before she can so much as blink.  
"Now we're in a better position to talk," I remark while pulling down  
her hood.  
A skinny old woman with white hair greets me, and if her eyes hadn't  
been glowing, I'd mistake her for another elderly person. She looks...  
too... too... human. "*cough* Too old," she croaks like she was dying,  
"waited *hack* too long..." Despite her realization, despite her situation,  
despite her pain, she musters enough energy to violently lash out at me.  
Luckily, I predict her move and easily dodge her wild, desperate  
strike. "Damn it! You Black Moon types don't know when to quit, do you?!"  
Now I remember why I hated these cretins; they all thought they were so  
righteous, so definitively right. I hate people like that, people who think  
they're God. Maybe that's why it was so easy to kill them back in the day -  
they thought they were better than me.  
"Listen," I bark, silencing her, "I don't know what hole you crawled  
out of or what you did to become this 'Mistress,' but believe you me, I'm  
not in a very perky mood. If you so much as sneeze the wrong way, I'll put  
an end to you and your cult faster than a bullet! Got it?!"  
"Your kind is all the same," she hoarsely whispers, "You think you're  
God... You Senshi think you have all the answers..."  
"Don't associate me with them."  
"What, Venus? Why not? Don't you want to trod upon the souls of the  
crushed like myself? Don't you want to rule the world alongside your  
queen?"  
"She's NOT my queen."  
"Yes she is... I see it in your eyes right now, that righteous gleam  
sweeping through your soul, just like her. Be as virtuous as you want, but  
we all know you brought this sad world into being."  
By reflex, I give a heartfelt "You're wrong" before I can catch my  
tongue.  
"Lie, nothing but a lie. If you truly believe that, then you are as  
blind as the bat you are. Ultimate power corrupts even the most innocent of  
souls, much less the ignorant ones."  
Unconsciously, I loosen my grip on her as she hammers home these images  
I have been plagued by for the past few months. My hate begins to turn  
inward, refocusing onto myself. For a second, her words resonate in my mind  
and ring true like sets of facts.  
"You begin to see, don't you?" Her voice noticeably softens as her  
struggling diminishes. "Do with me what you will *cough* for I am old and  
cowardly. Thirty years ago, before our first attacks were even launched, I  
was sent here to garner support for our forces." A wistful look crosses her  
exhausted face, "I was with Black Moon Family since the very beginning,  
supplying them anything I could scrounge up. But I feared defeat. I  
withdrew from the costly campaign and contented myself with ruling this  
land." She gives a harsh laugh, "To think, I even used your city as a  
foundation for my twisted cult. I turned into you..."  
"What do you mean?"  
"I became what I fought... A dictator, a righteous bigot, a drunken  
fool! I did things because I could, and afterwards, I justified them by  
thinking I was right."  
"Is that why you fought us? Is that all the war was about? A moral  
disagreement?"  
Her glowing eyes dim, and behind the pale, angry stare, I see a hint of  
pity surging forth. "Oh, you poor soul, brainwashed to the harsh reality  
that is life. You may have lived for a thousand years, but your naivete  
remains. No, we didn't start the war because of a moral dilemma with your  
queen. No, we didn't even start the war for world domination. Though in the  
end that's what our reasons became, we started the war out of survival."  
"Survival?!"  
She smiles at my surprise. "Is that so hard to believe? You with your  
perfect city and utopian ways - did it ever occur to you that your paradise  
was a society built on gluttony? In world where even food is becoming  
scarcer by the day, why is it be so hard to believe that a band of outcasts  
would rise up and fight for more? If your family starved while your  
neighbor feasted, wouldn't you want his lion's share too?"  
I shake my head, unwilling to accept the truth spilling from her dying  
mouth. She's the enemy and not one to be trusted... but an enemy of who? An  
enemy of me? Of Serenity? Of society? Or has she always been on the side of  
good?  
"You think I'm lying, Venus."  
"No," I correct, "I'm think you're partially right. You said yourself  
that your crusade turned into something more than survival-"  
"Of course it did! How could we not envy your power? We are all human,  
complete with the same needs and aspirations as you. In the process of  
fighting, we saw our friends fall and demanded more for compensation. One  
thing lead to another, and well, you know how war is..."  
"Yeah... all too well...'  
We sit in a comfortable silence, a newfound respect for each other  
looming in the stale, decay-ridden air. Remember that aforementioned anger  
in the woman's eyes? It finally flakes away, yielding to a peaceful gaze of  
oblivion, like a person facing death. As for me, instead of pinning her  
shoulders to the ground, I find myself cradling her elderly body in my  
arms, much like what a mother would do to a child.  
Her weakened voice breaks my thoughts. "You didn't know, did you?"  
"About what?"  
"About our hardships, about why we fought."  
"No... I had no idea. We always thought you were pure demons, existing  
only to destroy our beloved city."  
Tears float down her cheeks, "In the later years, that was true..."  
I still have one final question to ask. "Why?"  
"I told you. It's because we were pushed to the fringes of soci-"  
"No, why did you suddenly decide to tell me all these things? Moments  
ago, we were ready to tear each other's heads off."  
Grinning, she replies, "That's because I don't stand a chance against a  
young hooligan like you."  
After a short stint of comic relief, her face grows grave again. "I  
wanted to see the truth behind the myths," she says dejectedly, "A side of  
me wanted to be validated; it wanted to see Sailor Venus in all her haughty  
glory. I wanted to know just how much I hated you... but instead, I find  
out how much we're alike. We were both plagued by one-sided stories and  
sick morals. Arrogantly, we both fought each other tooth and nail because  
we thought ourselves right. But most importantly-"  
"We're human."  
"Yes, and destined to err." She closes her eyes and sighs. "My time is  
almost up... I can feel it now. My body - in its old age - is not what it  
used to be. I'm afraid our little scuffle has broken more than a few  
necessary bodily items..."  
"I'm sorry..."  
Waving her hand in dismal, she gratefully grabs my arm and says, "No,  
don't be sorry, for you have brought me peace and closure. After a long,  
vengeful, hateful, and inhumane life, I have finally learned about  
happiness, maybe even a little about love. You may not see your importance  
today... maybe not even tomorrow... but... but... you let me talk... you  
let me see your contagious innocence..."  
Me? Innocent?  
"I needed to put down my rage... if only for a second... thank you..."  
"But I didn't-"  
"Sssshhhhh... r... reme... remember... you are not... not... not  
measured b... by what you want... it's by what you do... an... and you've  
done me... a world of good..."  
The Mistress lies still in my arms, her formerly forbidding form  
reduced to a peaceful, blissful corpse. I consider leaving her body in the  
street to rot, but then again, she was human, enemy or not. A fellow human  
being deserves more respect than that; the least I could do was bury her,  
leave her with some dignity.  
Dignity she, and everyone else in this land, deserved.  
  
**************  
  
The funeral was scarcely attended - a few loyal followers and a handful  
of insincere snobs made up the mourning. I was among them, preparing myself  
to deliver the customary eulogy.  
Why wasn't there a larger crowd? The Mistress' cult was huge, snaking  
itself into all aspects of London life; I expected a bigger turn out, if  
not to see her praised, then at least to see her dead. Perhaps everyone was  
already scrambling to grab as much power as possible - I heard that she was  
extremely feared and wealthy. In a land of cutthroats, beggars, and  
hopeless peons, I wouldn't expect anything less. No, actually, the absence  
of a swarm seemed logical given that man had lost the capacity to care, to  
love, to give respect.  
Walking to the front of the room, I cleared my throat to get everyone's  
attention; snoring answered my call to alertness.  
Maybe I was wrong in doing this. Since when was it ever my place to  
give a eulogy - never mind that, organize an entire burial - for a person I  
didn't even know? All my words would be meaningless in my heart. This stunt  
of mine was created to loosen a burden on my conscience; I did this for  
purely selfish reasons. The last thing I needed was another kill on my  
expansive list of mortal sins.  
But that didn't make my actions any less wrong.  
They only made me feel better even when I really wasn't.  
I tapped the podium, rousing the dozing participants. They took a few  
moments to realize where they were.  
"Ladies and Gentlemen," I nervously began, "You may not know who I am,  
but I-"  
**click**  
Looking up, I saw the door in the back of the room open, admitting a  
pair of people in white cloaks. Somberly and wordlessly, they took seats in  
furthest corner of the rear. Then, another two came in, and another two,  
and another and another and another and another until the room was stuffed.  
Still others kept coming, first lining up outside the door, then finally  
spilling outside into the streets. Windows were opened to allow the late  
comers to see and hear everything inside. Besides the Mistress' so-called  
Followers of Serenity, "rich" folk littered the area, equally respectful of  
the silence reining supreme. They all trained their eyes on me.  
I felt naked under their expectant gaze. They regarded me as some sort  
of spiritual guru - a harbinger of epiphanies - and waited for their dosage  
of enlightenment like puppies begging for food.  
I didn't have the heart to disappoint them. I couldn't back down, but I  
couldn't go forward either. I was caught between a rock and another rock;  
one of them had to give.  
"Ahem, so is everyone here?"  
Escape was not an option from here on out.  
I considered many openings, trying to see which would fit the occasion.  
None of them seemed appropriate for the public I stood in front of. Should  
I tell them about myself or should I just go on? Maybe a little joke to  
lighten up the mood or a grave story to set the stage-  
Finally, I gave up.  
"I'm here today, standing before you delivering this speech for a woman  
I hardly know, because I'm selfish. I am nothing but a coward, an abandoned  
slave, and a walking plague."  
Suddenly, someone from the back shouted, "But you're from Crystal  
Tokyo!!!"  
Nods accompanied the shout; I only sighed.  
"Forget that dreadful place! Do you want to know the truth?! Do all of  
you sitting here want to know how you've been deceived for thirty years?!  
Do you want to hear about your idea of 'heaven'?! Well, I'll tell you  
everything, everything to ruin and crush the pitiful dream you call a life!  
Thirty years ago, this woman - the one you and I only know as the  
Mistress - came to this place to harness your blind support for the Black  
Moon Family, the ones fighting against Crystal Tokyo! But like me, she was  
a coward, a person who feared death and defeat. Instead of opting to rule  
the world, she amused herself by consuming your minds, amassing your  
fortunes, and devouring your country! She needed your complete loyalty, so  
she elevated Serenity and her damnable court to the status of gods,  
creating a religion out of their twisted paradise. The Mistress played a  
terrible game with your hearts; she knew it was human nature to believe in  
hope - you had none, so she provided it to you. Because you tasted hope,  
you wanted more, and soon afterwards, she had you going back to her to hear  
about 'heaven' and Serenity and her saints and her angels. It made you feel  
good; it made you live for tomorrow. It made you find a purpose even when  
there was none!  
Your way of life is nothing but a sham! A corrupt hand of roulette that  
got too far out of hand! A figment of a villain's imagination! You devoted  
yourselves to her because she said what you wanted to hear. You believe in  
the infallibility of Crystal Tokyo because you have nothing else to believe  
in. God is not tangible, neither is heaven; whatever that cannot be touched  
is fake. Serenity is seen walking in her elegant dresses; Crystal Tokyo is  
on the front of every postcard. They are both tangible, and therefore,  
believable.  
I tell you now to stop your stubborn, foolish, and ignorant way of  
life. Serenity is not a god, not even a saint. She is human like the rest  
of you, flesh and blood. There was a time when I used to think of her as  
you do, a time not long ago, but one day I gazed into her deep blue eyes  
and found the soul of a helpless child, a sentient being as capable of  
hating, wronging, and dying as you.  
She is human, chained and controlled by her absolute power.  
She is not benevolent nor self-sacrificing, and neither are her Senshi.  
I should know, for I am one of them. Stained on my hands is the blood of an  
entire people, an entire civilization. I destroyed their souls to create a  
better society for myself. Every night, each of my victims' screams come  
into my dreams, making me feel their pain and suffering. Every night, I am  
drowned by the blood of future generations.  
You see, Crystal Tokyo is not heaven - it's hell. The Sailor Senshi are  
not saints - we're mindless tools. Serenity is not God - she's human at  
best.  
So, release your fanciful ideals; forget your white cloaks and roguish  
cult. Return to the streets, to the houses, to the city - where you belong.  
Remember this woman, the Mistress, not by her convoluted past nor by her  
deceitful nature, but by her message of hope. Find your own salvation  
because another's heaven could be your hell. Believe in yourself and your  
hope, for they are the cause of and solution to all of life's problems."  
Quiet. Mighty silence.  
I stepped down from the podium and strode to the door, intent on making  
my exit while everyone was stunned.  
However, before I could get out, a person stopped me, namely the boy.  
Tears soaking his eyes, he cried, "How do we hope for more when we have  
nothing?!"  
"You're human," I reply, "Learn from your mistakes and grow from your  
triumphs. Remember to accept your past, clean your present, and hope for  
your future. When there is life, there is hope."  
  
That day I walked out of London, my conscience not as heavy as when I  
first arrived. Hope filled my heart, hope for a better tomorrow not only  
for me, but also for them. I already see a better today.  
Upon leaving, I left them with the Latin phrase, "Carpe diem."  
"Seize the day."  
  
  
*****  
Notes  
*****  
  
Strange? Mystified? Baffled? Mail me your opinions about this  
experimental, brooding, and extremely heady kind of writing. I accept all  
comments, be they hateful cussing or words of praise. Chapter 3 (which will  
hopefully be more... more... sane) will be delayed a bit due to time  
constraints. School is going to start back up for me and I am not going to  
have the time to write so much anymore.  
Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!!  
  
-Don.  
  



	3. Clean - Chapter 3

Sorry for the massive delay in getting this chapter out. "Clean" has  
been a taxing project both physically and emotionally. There's only so much  
a person can draw from personal experience, adapt into a fictional setting,  
convey with conciseness, and make understandable to the general public.  
It's like putting a new spin on an old magic trick everytime it's done: I'm  
trying to get the audience see what they've seen for the first time. Much  
harder than I thought.  
Because of that, I would like to thank the people who made this fic  
even possible: Bethany (who is also the editor!!!) and Luna's Meow. They  
were instrumental in providing me with unbelievable inspiration, allowing  
me to finish this chapter.  
Thank you to all the fans of this series and I hope this new offering   
lives up to your expectations. I'm very sorry but again, next chapter might  
come a bit late.  
Small side note: in case you forgot, this chapter is still in the  
"prologue" stage, like the last one.  
  
  
  
email: doniswong@hotmail.com  
  
Rating: R (swearing)  
  
  
  
  
  
"Clean"  
Chapter 3  
  
A fanfic  
by  
Don  
  
  
  
  
  
A decrepit jungle gym adjourned with slide and sand lives off the side  
of this road. Its glory days have long since gone, gone with the joyous  
bellows of young children playing, replaced by the noises of man's  
technological travesties.  
The place is like a badland, completely used, recycled, and razed. Not  
a soul lives on the soot covered park, no, not even a worm. Birds of prey  
circling above seem to disregard this barren land; even the vultures stay  
away. It repulses them, shies them away with its ugly, deformed, lifeless  
exterior.  
Yesterday, I would have agreed with the worms and birds. I would have  
set eyes on this sickening place and declared it depressing, sad, and  
taboo, like the world.  
But yesterday is gone and all that remains is today.  
Today I see something different in this land, something redeeming.  
Instead of seeing an old toy decay, I see a shiny object of affection that  
gave joy to countless impoverished children. Instead of hearing the noises  
of vehicles, factories, and fights, I hear melodious music composed of  
innocent giggling and content squealing. Instead of seeing the gym in  
despair, I see it in its splendor.  
Seated upon an old cushioned swing, I aimlessly hurl myself forward and  
backward, letting the rhythm mirror my calm heartbeat. I take in the  
surroundings, letting the dying park pulsate with my happiness, letting it  
give joy to one last soul whether she deserves it or not...  
Suddenly, the world doesn't seem that bad. Suddenly, the devil in me  
shuts its twisted mouth. Suddenly, I feel free, free like a wandering  
ghost.  
For a second, my sins seem to pale in comparison to my joy.  
As I let out a smile - a true smile, one that I have not shown since my  
youthful days - another soul climbs over the muddy ridge and witnesses my  
abandon.  
"Mina!" the sickly girl shouts, trying her hardest to run to me. Seeing  
her struggle, I tear myself from the swing and meet her halfway.  
Scooping the child up with an arm, I take care not to scare her with my  
abrupt movements. "Susie!" I smile, somewhat surprised, "why are you out  
here? Didn't your mommy tell you to stay home?"  
"Yes," she sadly replies, "But... but I wan... wanted to...  
CanIstaywithyouforalittlebit?!"  
How can I possibly say no? I whirl her about, giving a heartfelt "You  
bet!" in the process.  
Amidst her laughing and clapping, harsh coughs plague her energy,  
draining it away like a youma. Alas, the solution would have been easy had  
it been a simple youma. She, however, suffers from a scourge far worse than  
morbid creature: humanity.  
Look at her environment, her home. Smoke billows from every hole while  
nauseous fumes rise from spilled chemicals on the ground. The sky is  
darkened, burned and charred like the soot-layered jungle gym.  
Your fingers turn black from the grim in the air.  
No wonder her lungs are weak. No wonder she can't run. No wonder she  
can't live.  
"Want to go on the swing?"  
After giving a sheepish nod, we head toward the cushioned perch. I set  
her down on one of the swings and begin giving her soft pushes.  
"Weeeeeee!!!" she yells as her body rises closer to the sky. "Higher!  
Higher!"  
Acknowledging her request, I put more strength into my arms, lifting  
her to a new level of enjoyment. She reaches out, vainly trying to touch  
the thick clouds above, vainly trying to see what they are for the first  
time in her life.  
"Ha ha ha!!! Mina!!! Come on! It's funnnnn!!!"  
There's something so contagious about her and her smile. It's foreign,  
yet not wholly unfamiliar, like something I've had but lost. The laughs,  
the giggles, the grins - my God is it intoxicating!  
Somewhere off in the hazy distance, I remember a time when I was in her  
place, being pushed along a swing, throwing the afternoons away to the  
whipping air. It's innocent, blissful, and utterly perfect. When you're up  
on that swing, you haven't a care in the world.  
I had that... once.  
Like a fool, I lost it, willingly threw it away because of a dream I  
could never have.  
And yet, somehow, I got it back.  
  
---------- Flashback -----------  
  
It all began one sweltering August day six months after I left London.  
The bullet train had just pulled into the station of Paris, France and I  
was eager to get out.  
As I recall, the particular line I rode consisted of treacherous  
terrain, horribly maintained tracks, and rancid cabin areas. Paris wasn't  
the destination I had in mind - Madrid was - but at the time, getting out  
of that speeding deathtrap seemed more important.  
Besides, I valued something called "self-preservation."  
So there I was, standing at the cargo zone, baked to an uncomfortable  
warmth by the pollution enhanced heat-wave. Inside the station wasn't any  
better; the ventilation was so bad that travelers had to be turned away.  
Locked out, cooked up, and pushed aside, my only recourse was to find  
refuge under the concrete skyline.  
Reluctantly, I walked away, hoping to find a taxi of some sort to get  
me to some reasonable shelter. Oh yes, and did I ever find taxis; just  
across the street, I saw a whole fleet of them crippled on the side of the  
scorching road, drivers homicidally complaining about their "gosh darned,  
no flippin' good, poo poo head" machines... to put it in a nice way.  
At the time, I felt trapped, depressed, and most assuredly, enraged.  
Why?  
Imagine for a moment, me, loose on a sidewalk filled to the brim with  
people of "alternate lifestyles" pushing, shoving, and cussing. While the  
sun mercilessly beat down on my back, cretins slid their hands into my  
clothes, trying to feel me up.  
Damned perverts - gets me pissed off just thinking about them...  
Anyway, I had spent the last six months visiting old stomping grounds,  
places that I had dwellings in. At all my stops, I either sold or destroyed  
my sorry memorabilia, opting to see them forgotten and buried rather than  
remembered and under my name. For a while, I was extremely paranoid: I  
thought the Senshi were after me. Of course, there could have been some  
truth in that - some of my apartments where disturbed when I revisited  
them. The caution carried over into my life, choking the joy out of my  
existence. Every wrong angered me, every sound shocked my heart.  
Now, I was progressing through the later stages of paranoia in a  
foreign land, at a place I didn't even want to go to, stuck under a  
relentless heat-lamp, and stranded on a transportation devoid piss palace  
with mohawk-inclined punks publicly touching me!!!  
I had every right to hate the city. I had every right to look at this  
depressing hellhole and scream, "DIE!!!" I had every right to want to leave  
as soon as possible.  
But as fate would have it - or wouldn't have it, depending on your  
point of view - I wasn't to leave this place so soon; its mark was yet to  
be carved on my scarred soul.  
While depression and self-pity lulled me back into their comfortable  
holes, an angel smiled down on me. Fine, maybe not angel, but whatever you  
call it, someone saw my guilt, my blind pride, my sadness and said, "Let's  
give her a hand."  
And that is how it all started.  
  
Paris. HA! City of love? Try skanktown! Damned no good global warming  
too; ought to have stopped it when I could. Get rid of Crystal Tokyo and I  
bet you'd get rid of half the world's pollution.  
Consumers, all of them! Wallowing in their pigsty like... like... fat  
pigs!  
"Oh Mina-chan, we're trying to make the world a better place."  
"Oh Mina-chan, we're fighting for love and justice."  
"Oh Mina-chan, we're retards who forgot there's other people besides us  
living on this rock."  
You're damned right there's other people living on this rock, and we  
screwed up their lives! In one of those remote ways, I can't blame these  
people for what they're doing, but then agai-  
**BEEEEEPP!!!**  
"Hey!" some guy yells from behind me, "Yeah you! Preppy lady! Need a  
ride?!"  
I glance back at the man. His head is sticking out the window of a cab,  
in his hand is a cheap cigar; looks more like a cab driver from Brooklyn  
rather than a Parisian taxi valet. Oh well, at times like these, beggars  
can't be choosers.  
Without saying a word, I step into the driver's backseat and mutter  
something that resembles thanks.  
"Where to?"  
How about somewhere with no lowlifes and no reminders of my previous  
life? "Somewhere with a nice bed and some good food."  
Eh, good enough.  
The man gives me one of those scandalous winks and suggests, "Me bed is  
always warm and me food locker is in need o' stockin'! What say you come to  
my place?"  
Someone up there sure has it in for me. "What say you shut your trap  
and drive before I wipe that smart ass grin off your face with the car  
upholstery?"  
  
He drove off after that comment. At the time, I truly thought that my  
tour de France was a curse. Just goes to show me how many curses are often  
blessings in disguise.  
He drove and drove and drove and drove, winding through modern  
structures and dilapidated streets. A while later, empty fields in  
mid-development littered my sights as summer rains descended upon the city.  
That dreaded smell accompanied it too; you know, the stale odor of  
ash-ridden water evaporating on contact of an red hot surface.  
I thought I had died and gone to hell.  
More and more he wove, disappearing into the residential area... if you  
could call it a residential area. Tenements of old - similar to buildings  
from days of 1900 American immigration - stood, leaning on their last legs.  
Somehow or another, they still managed to hold some kind pride in their  
plight, a feat that struck me as arrogant, like a blind man claiming he  
could see.  
Finally, the driver stopped the car and gave me a malicious snarl.  
Through his clenched teeth, he spat something about hope you break your  
neck when you fall off your bed. I ignored him; didn't even pay him either.  
I exited the taxi, fully expecting the accommodations to be some kind  
of brothel or burlesque house.  
What I saw, though, was anything but.  
The modest town house stood a towering two stories, eclipsing a small  
pad of lush green grass on the front yard. There was a stoop even, complete  
with a white soot covered bench. Windows shined to blinding reflectiveness  
brought a comforting feeling to the home. Immediately, an image of the  
ancient "bed and breakfast" lodgings came to mind, stirring up old memories  
of vacations long past.  
Given that I was not in the mood for reminiscing, I was ready to turn  
and leave, but one look at the rest of the neighborhood convinced me  
otherwise.  
Remember the aforementioned tenements? They were still there in massive  
attendance.  
Lacking any other better place to stay, I decided to take a gamble with  
the town house: either the driver dropped me off at a respectable  
establishment or he threw me to the wolves. It was a fair gamble.  
Besides, wolves aren't all that bad once they're tamed.  
Before knocking, I remember dusting myself off and taking a huge  
breath.  
Why? To prepare myself for a shock.  
And did I ever get one.  
  
"Yes?" a calm, sweet voice answers.  
I nearly collapse at the... the... STRANGENESS of the situation! Here I  
was, ready to deck a person across the face and someone like this-  
The door creeks open and a comely young woman wearing a clean dress  
steps forth. Couldn't have been more than thirty. "May I help you?"  
"Ummm... a taxi driver said that, well, this is a... a... nice place to  
stay?"  
What the? Who is this?! What is going on here?! This has got be some  
sick joke! There are no - I repeat - there are NO people who look like her!  
I got it! She's some mob boss' mistress who can-  
She giggles at my stuttering and obvious confusion. "Come on in," she  
motions while opening the door wider, "Business has been slow lately;  
you're going to be the only guest staying."  
Where's the arsenic smell or the weird knives? Where's the Stephen King  
bloody hatchets and the Edgar Allan Poe forbidding lightning? Where's the  
gang of thieves and pack of lunatic cultists?! Where is everything that's  
SUPPOSE to be here?!  
Look! Over there! A true living room - couch, armchairs, and coffee  
table.To my left, a walk-in closet for jackets and coats! I'd ask "What  
is this place?!" again, but it's getting real old, real quick.  
"I charge- Where are you from?"  
Japan? United States? "England."  
"Ahhhh. I charge about," she pauses to do some mental calculations,  
"ninety pounds a night; it includes breakfast too. I apologize for the high  
price, but it's-"  
I kick my brain, trying to get it functioning again. "Yeah," I mutter,  
"That's alright..."  
...  
...  
...  
What's wrong with this place?!  
  
Little did I know the only thing "wrong" with the place was me. In  
retrospect, I'd say I was disillusioned, inconsiderate, and stupid. At the  
time, I called myself cautious, wise, and intelligent.  
Put yourself in my old shoes for a second.  
I had left Crystal Tokyo for a whole nine months. All nine of those  
months consisted of being immersed in a pseudo-civilized environment  
permeated by bestial Darwinism. That means, if someone offered me a bite to  
eat, the bite would be tainted with poison so that I'd die and that  
"someone" could loot my corpse afterwards.  
Comforting to see the future has turned out this bright.  
Anyway, to pile on top of that disturbing fact, I was still mighty  
angry at my former associates. To add to THAT, I was still very guilt  
stricken over my wrongs, past, present, AND future.  
Combine all those things swarming around in my troubled mind and you'd  
still be far off from how I felt.  
It was terrible I tell you, just terrible. Some days, like the day I  
went to Paris, I'd have my paranoid personality in full view. Then, at  
night in bed, I'd be crying my heart out because of some mental wound, war  
trauma and the like. When I'd wake, I'd find myself the resident of a  
destroyed room, testament to the subconscious anger boiling in my veins.  
I bordered on the gray area between multiple personalities and  
schizophrenia.  
One second, I'd be "booo hoooo hooo" and the next I'd be "Stop looking  
at me before I tear you a new-"  
Well, you get the idea.  
I was sick and twisted, yet, I didn't know it.  
Ironic how people always become what they fight...  
Well, such an interesting diversion. Where was I? Oh yes, about my  
attitude.  
Here was someone nice, somewhere clean. I was accustomed to a world - a  
society - built on death, and here was something different.  
I knew it shouldn't have seemed foreign; afterall, I am human, right?  
This woman was only acting humane, a sentiment that should not be  
experienced as unfamiliar. Yes, but SHOULD does not denote WOULD. That's  
why they're two different words. In the furthest recesses of my mind, I had  
an idea of what should be, but blinding confusion muddled my rationale. I  
saw the world as it was, not what it could be.  
Indeed, what stood in front of me was the "could" and "should," but I  
rejected it because I was too wrapped up in myself.  
It took me four months to finally accept it.  
Yes, I did stay there for four months. Odd how I previously moved from  
place to place in a heartbeat, then suddenly staying put for months. Be  
that as it may, the time I spent in that home passed by faster than my  
entire life. I relearned everything from that house - how to smile, how to  
care, how to hope, how to love, and how to cry.  
I was taken off the drug known as self-pity, and for once in a thousand  
years, I saw how good the world could be...  
  
"Mama?" a tiny voice from the left squeaks.  
There's a little sickly girl about ten years old leaning against a  
couch.  
The woman smiles sweetly in her direction. "Yes darling?"  
Sheepishly, she sticks out her finger and reveals a little cut, "I have  
a boo boo."  
"Would you excuse me for a second?"  
Without even waiting for me to reply, the woman hustles the girl into a  
remote part of the home, away from my sights. Cautiously, I survey the  
area, trying to discern any traps, weapons, and "security" features.  
Nothing.  
I step into an anteroom turned playroom, sparsely littered with dolls  
and drawing materials. It's really nothing to call a playroom, just a play  
area; it's simply too small and has too few toys. I check the corners of  
room for inconsistencies.  
Nothing.  
Forging ahead, I circle around the stairs and find an office lightly  
furnished with "expensive" desks, chairs, and lamps. A sliding window door  
opens up to the backyard, and if my eyes do deceive me, there's someone  
there! Throwing open the window, I am greeted by a huge amount of-  
Nothing.  
Other than the racing of my heart and the ominous howling of city  
winds, I see, feel, smell, and hear nothing.  
Without warning, I hear, "Do you find this worth the price?"  
Natural reaction? "AHHH!!!"  
  
And so began my rehabilitation. First item on the agenda? Trust.  
Evident in my approach of the house, I had some serious issues with  
trust, with simply believing in others. I guess it was because I believed  
too much at one point in my life. As someone once wrote, "Scratch the  
surface of any cynic and you will find the purest of idealists." In years  
before, I believed in good, trust, innocence, love, and justice. I fought  
and died for them without thinking twice. I was too good, too trusting, too  
innocent, too loving, too just...  
In the end, I was hurt because of those things. Like any other person,  
I didn't want to be hurt again, so I shut myself off from trust. In order  
to be blinded, one must first see: I couldn't be hurt if I didn't believe.  
What I stupidly forgot was that I couldn't be healed either.  
Hope is the cause of and solution to all our problems - truer words  
have never been spoken. The first step to hope is trust and the first step  
to trust is vulnerability. I needed to risk everything in order to get rid  
of the pain.  
I needed to trust.  
It was a slow and arduous journey given my state of mind. For days on  
end I would stay in my refurbished, four wall, one bed mock-Victorian room.  
Guess what I was doing?  
Pouting. Feeling sorry for myself. Sulking. Wasting away.  
Did it make me feel any better? No. On the contrary, I felt even worse.  
It was like scratching a mosquito bite: the temporary relief made the bite   
burn with untold pain.  
I needed to realize the best way to get out of a hole was to stop  
digging. I could only accomplish that by myself. It was the first things  
they provided me with: peace of mind and solitude.  
By myself, I couldn't lie anymore. By myself, I had to face the facts.  
By myself, I had to get up every morning, look myself in the mirror, and  
say, "This is natural for me."  
Wasn't before long I cracked. I realized that...  
  
"This is childish."  
I stretch my hand out and touch the glossy mirror, unsure of what  
lurked behind the surface. Actually, I'm not even so sure what's staring  
back at me. A haggardly old woman with eyes as old as dirt stuck in a young  
girl's body frowns in my direction. Shying away in fear, I throw myself  
back onto the bed and sigh.  
How many days has it been? When was the last time I took a breath of  
fresh air?  
Maybe just a little too long. My back aches from the constant sleeping,  
and if it wasn't for the generous woman, my stomach would be growling too.  
The polite thing to do would be to formally go downstairs and introduce  
myself so I don't seem like some crazy nut, which I am not. No, I'm  
definitely not short a few eggs from the deck...  
... or however that saying goes. Never did get many of them right.  
You know, the two other tenants in this humble abode can't be too bad.  
If they were, I'd be worm food by now, probably rotting in their yard, dead  
from some poison. They've fed me and given me quiet; at the very least, a  
word of gratitude is needed.  
After cleaning myself and putting on a new set of clothes, I take one  
last furtive glance at the mirror. The same pale face appears, eyes so  
devoid of anything human. It scares me, chills me to the bone. Is this me?  
Is this what I have become? A reclusive ghost? Tears begin building up,  
threatening to burst through my emotional dam, but I fight the urge to cry,  
to feel sorry for myself.  
There's another time for that. Now is certainly not it.  
I unhinge the mirror from the wall and put it face down on the table. I  
will not look at the mirror until I come back.  
Pushing open the door, I carefully step to the stairs with cat-like  
grace.Why am I being so cautious? I don't sense anything wrong. Probably  
natural reaction, and there is nothing wrong with natural reaction, is  
there?  
Down the stairs I go, straight into a living room flushed with quiet  
breathing. The furtive girl I saw when I first came lazily dozes on the  
couch in front of the drawn curtains. I didn't realize it before, but she  
is immensely cute. Long blonde hair, pouty lips, narrow face - almost  
reminds me of myself back in the day.  
I hate to say it, but she does strike a dissonant chord in my heart. It  
brings back memories of my friends, of better, happier times. The images  
feel right, yet so strangely wrong; I want it, yet I don't.  
She starts, suddenly realizing that someone is watching her. Her hazy  
eyes open to sight of me. I expect a startled response, maybe even a little  
scream, but no.  
I get a smile.  
"Hi," she peeps, dazed and confused, but nonetheless, quite joyful.  
Squatting down, I return her friendly gesture and carefully whisper,  
"Did I scare you?"  
A laugh escapes her mouth, "No! I know you're a good person..."  
"And how so?"  
"Because you asked me if I was scared."  
A simple but profound truth - I only wish everything was as pure as her  
answer. "You're a kawaii little one, ne?"  
She frowns in misunderstanding at my liberally used Japanese. "K...  
Ka...Kawaii?"  
"Sorry," I blush, "Means cute."  
"Ka... Kawaii means cute?"  
"Hai." What's wrong with me? I'm all over the language barrier today.  
Can't even catch my flailing tongue in time!  
"Who talks like that?"  
Brushing some stray strands of hair from her eyes, I gather my wits and  
decide to switch the conversation to something less retrospective. "So  
what's your name, little one?"  
"Susie... but you still haven't answered me yet. Who talks like that?"  
I consider lying to her, saying something like Russian or Chinese or the  
like, but then again, I AM talking to a girl here. Why am I even  
considering lying to her? There's no point, no need! She is but a curious  
soul asking an innocent question!  
Have to face it: I've become much too sensitive about my life. Maybe  
it's time to open up...  
... especially to a socially blind, nonjudgmental youngster like...  
like...Susie was it?  
"It's Japanese," I reply, helping her to a sitting position, "I speak  
it pretty fluently."  
She gives only a quick nod to the statement, dismissing it after being  
aptly answered. A child like her shouldn't be interested in that stuff yet.  
Then again, neither should the rest of the world; Japanese is not the  
language of gods, but of mere mortals. People of today - at least some of  
them - have forgotten that.  
Her voice cuts through my brooding, "So what's your name?"  
"Minako, but you can call me Mina though." Mina... I've always loved  
the diminutive form of my name...  
Shuffling off the couch, Susie darts for the office, undoubtedly making  
a break for the backyard. At the door, she turns around and grins. "Well  
Mina, can you play a game of tag with me?"  
"Sure..."  
"Ok! You're it!"  
  
I had a great time to say the least. She didn't run very fast and  
didn't put forth much of a challenge, but there was something maniacally  
addictive about her attitude.  
Brick by brick, layer by layer, she tore down my lame defenses. How?  
Probably because of her acceptance. I was rejected by everyone - myself  
especially - and her unconditional, unbiased love was a welcome burst of  
emotion.  
Just the smallest acts can make people happy.  
And why is that?  
I don't know, maybe it shows disenchanted fools like myself that the  
world isn't so bad. Maybe it's an issue about life, about trust. Maybe it's  
a reflection of a younger, more virtuous self.  
Whatever works. A great weight was lifted off my shoulders, and for  
that, I am eternally grateful.  
Things seemed to look up from there on. I was drawn out of my  
self-imposed exile, out of my pathetic shell and finally thrust into a  
brazier of hope. My being was reforged like an ancient sword, sharpened and  
shined after an age of antiquity.  
Of course, the transformation didn't happen overnight, oh God no! Now  
that I look back on it, I see I had to trick myself little bit by little  
bit. Day one, I said, "I'm just being nice." Day two, I said, "I'm just  
being courteous." Day three, I said, "It's just to keep her company."  
And so on. I never saw how hope and trust seeped into my life. Day by  
day I would make small concessions to myself, making sure I was keeping in  
character with my deep blue depression. Just because I was nice didn't mean  
anything. Just because I was being courteous didn't mean anything. Right?  
Wrong!  
It was like a drug slowly worming its way into my system, and then one  
day, BAM, I found out I couldn't live without it... just like self-pity.  
Despite the vast improvement in attitude, I still wasn't an agreeable  
person. Hope was only the base for my emotional rebuilding; I still had the  
entire house to attend to. A window of opportunity was open for me, now I  
had to seize it.  
I guess envy played a part in my lunge for sanity. Sad to say, but it  
was my driving force. I befriended Susie, it was inevitable that I would  
befriend her mother too. Result? I started seeing them together as a  
cohesive unit.  
When I was busy feeling sorry for myself, I never got a chance to see  
how close of a relationship those two had - but then, it's only natural  
seeing that they're parent and child. The laughing, joking, the playing -  
they stirred up the long forgotten maternal instincts in me; I wanted a  
little version of myself to hold, cuddle, and lull to sleep.  
I wanted to experience life to the fullest...  
I gave it all up when I became Sailor Venus. I remember Artemis used to  
continually ask, "Are you ok with this? Are you going to be fine?" Furball  
knew what was getting under my skin before I even knew. If he could see me  
now, he'd realize I wasn't fine with what once was, with my decision...  
... but we all screw up. It's how we rebuild that counts.  
And believe you me, and I had a bunch of rebuilding to attend to.  
  
The sun slowly set off in the west, painting the dreary tenements in a  
bright red-orange color. The lingering warmth retained by global warming  
heats up my prone body as it rests on a comfortable, albeit it old,  
lawnchair.  
Beautiful... I never take the time to look at sunsets anymore; what a  
shame. Look at that fading horizon, that solid splash of brightness, that  
stream of highlighted clouds - this is a hobby I should've taken up long  
ago.  
Suddenly, the panel door to the home slides open, admitting a bouncing  
Susie and her smiling mother. Giving me two quick, sunny nods, they proceed  
to pull up two chairs, sit down, and share a shiny red apple left over from  
yesterday's groceries.  
Look at them over there, all happy and content despite their  
surroundings. How do they do it? How they find so much joy in each other?  
How do they find the drive to continue on?  
While love, trust, hope, and honesty can get a person happiness,  
there's only so much those ideals can do when life is a piece of shit. Face  
it: humans are hedonistic machines programmed to maximize personal  
satisfaction through unitary means. When physical wealth doesn't stack up  
to some requirement, emotional wealth means absolutely nothing.  
But yet, the familial bond between these two seem to be forged of steel  
and imbued with some magical enchantment. I can't help but feel jealous  
knowing that, for some reason, they have it better than I ever had. They  
actually have a "normal" life in the most abnormal times. They actually  
have stability in one of the most unstable places.  
I never had that, no, not even in the prime of my life. I always had an  
empty spot somewhere, somehow.  
They're whole, complete. Wish I had even a taste of that.  
"Hey Mina," says Susie, "Could you play with me for a little bit?"  
What am I going to say? No? "Sure, what did you have in mind?"  
Her mother makes a mock-pouting face and tickles her in the side. "And  
what about me?!" she playfully laughs.  
"Hahahahaha!!! Come on!" Susie hysterically giggles, "Leggo of me!!!"  
Eh, why not? I jump into the fray, my fingers already diving for the  
more ticklish places.  
  
Little did I know the whole thing was a "ploy," so to speak.  
Babysitter... they needed a babysitter, and what better way to sucker a  
person into babysitting than by showing that the person had a great time with  
the kid?  
Wasn't my idea of fun, but nonetheless, I went with it, seeing it as a  
way of repayment for the hospitality. Remember those aforementioned  
maternal instincts? If I could compare it to a fire, I'd say my instinctual  
side was a blazing inferno. Being close to a child without having one  
yourself can do that to you.  
Susie seemed to be the zenith of happiness, the embodiment of joy. She  
healed the sick, forgave the sinners, and walked on water. I couldn't  
believe how much I needed that feeling.  
That was the breaking point for me; right then and there I said, "What  
the hell was I thinking?"  
Indeed, what WAS I thinking?  
  
"Mina?"  
  
What was up with my depression?!  
  
"Mina?"  
  
Why did I feel so hopeless?  
  
"Mina? I think we have to go home now..."  
  
-------- End Flashback --------  
  
Shaking my head slightly to clear away the haze, I cast my eyes  
downward to that special little girl tugging at my pant leg.  
"Mina? Mommy's probably worried about us."  
I take a brief glance at my watch and the sky. 4 PM and waning light -  
anybody would be worried, not just my esteemed landlady. "Alrighty," I  
pipe, taking her hand, "Have fun today?"  
"Yeah! Can we do this again?!"  
"I dunno... only if you're good!"  
"Yay!" she hollers, sprinting off ahead of me, "We're going to the park  
again! We're going to the park again! We're going to the park-"  
On she sings and skips, farther and farther away. At some point in my  
life, I won't think much of childish actions, but for now, they mean the  
world.  
She makes me feel like a parent, a friend, a confidant, and yes,  
perhaps even a student. I'd do anything to see her smile... anything.  
Maybe that's why my outlook on life changed so drastically within these  
few short months. I finally realize that there are some things worth  
fighting for. I finally realize that in the maelstrom of chaos, hate, and  
deceit, there is some good to be found. I finally realize that life isn't  
great - it's grand.  
Nothing may go my way, and as evident in these past few months, nothing  
has gone my way; however, that doesn't mean everyone is as terribly mauled  
as I am. There are ideals worth hanging on to, people worth dying for. Just  
because I don't see it today doesn't mean I won't see it tomorrow.  
I once said that where there is life, there is hope. If I could do it  
all over again, I'd change that statement. It should be, "There is hope."  
Plain and simple.  
Hope transcends life, even death. It is the one constant we can look  
forward to no matter how deep of a hole we're in. Besides, there's always  
an exit to any hole: up. Just in our time of trials, we forget to look  
there.  
The poor forget, thinking they can never escape when they can.  
The sick forget, thinking there is no cure when there is.  
The dying forget, thinking death is the end when there is life in  
death.  
On occasion, the foolish - like me - who have it none as bad as these  
folk, forget too. My luck lies in the fact that someone waltzed over to my  
pit of despair and hollered at me to look up. Physically, they didn't do  
much, a mere step and a shout. However, to me, it was like striking a match  
in a propane tank.  
There was an explosion... an explosion of hope.  
All that from a small spark.  
As I enter the bed and breakfast - my hospice for the past four months  
- I thunder up the stairs to my room, leaving Susie to hop onto the kitchen  
to greet her mother. Closing the door, I slowly but resolutely approach the  
mirror, the one I've left face down, the one I bathed my sorrow in, the one  
I thought my cure but in reality my disease.  
Come to think about it, ever since that fateful day, that day when I  
walked downstairs to meet Susie, I haven't seen my reflection. The image I  
have of myself is one of a shriveled young woman, complexion as pale as the  
moon. I remember my haggard eyes intermingled with my loathsome face. I  
remember the hate and resentment in my every move, how everything related  
back to some wrong I or the Senshi committed.  
I remember staring into that mirror and feeling noble because I hated  
myself.  
Putting my hand on the back of that dreadful pane of glass, I have an  
idea of what I will look like. I want to say what it is but I'm afraid I  
might jinx myself. I might look at the mirror expecting a butterfly but  
instead find a caterpillar.  
Dare I take that risk? I was never one to believe in superstitions,  
but... but... now seems like a good time to.  
I gently lift the frame, careful to not let the mirror be scratched;  
afterall, it does look quite expensive. Who will I see?  
A shining girl?  
A spent weapon?  
A pathetic ignoramus?  
A courageous woman?  
Or even-  
"Mina!!! Time for dinner!"  
The shout from below shatters my concentration allowing my flimsy grasp  
to loosen. The mirror falls to the table, breaking into a million pieces,  
some of the fragments falling to floor. Hastily, I bend down to pick up the  
larger remains and I cut myself; blood seeps onto the smooth surface of the  
mirror.  
Naturally, I pull the shard away, but in the process, I see myself and  
am mesmerized. It's the image of my younger self, ditzy grin and all; about  
the only thing missing is the red bow. The person in the mirror looks  
beautiful, vibrant, and above all, happy.  
Is that me?  
She looks so innocent, so hopeful, so accepting...  
I turn the fragment over to see if it was just my imagination.  
To my delight, it isn't: it is me. I wink at my reflection and flash my  
patent V sign. It follows suit. I blink cutely. It follows suit.  
"Mina!!! Are you alright up there?"  
So this is what I have become... once again - a digression back to a  
younger state, a better time, a jollier place.  
Glad to see I'm back.  
"MINA!!!"  
Standing up, I wipe the blood off my hand and reach into my money clip.  
A thousand, no, two thousand francs - that ought to cover the expenses for  
the mirror and then some. I grab my jacket and take one last look at my  
home for four months. I'll never forget this place, ever, not even in my  
time of trials. This'll always be my place of hope, my sanctuary from the  
blizzard of sadness.  
While I'd like to stay, my conscience weighs heavy on me. Just because  
I have hope doesn't mean that my conscience is wiped clean. There still  
remain the actions, the things that speak louder than words. Now that I  
have my life back, what will I do with it? Will I waste it? Will I squander  
it? Will I lose it?  
No. I'm going to share my newfound gift with others. Previously, I  
might not have used this wonderful talent productively, but now... now I  
know what to do. I have seen the harm it can do; it's time to see the good  
it can do.  
Going back to that analogy about striking a match in a propane tank: it  
takes so little to spark so much. All I have to do is provide the initial  
push, the rest will snowball into place.  
I cannot change the past, but at least I can change the future.  
  
  
*********  
End Notes  
*********  
  
Whew! Done with another chapter! Do you think this fic is done? Heavens no!  
Projected length is ten chapters, so hang tight for the next edition. While  
this current work doesn't display my literary skills at its best, I  
sincerely hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
Email me - tell me your opinions about what you think should happen (so  
far, this chapter is the one I'm least happy with, so complaints are more  
than welcome). I'm open to any and all comments.  
  
-Don.  



	4. Clean - Chapter 4

********  
Foreword  
********  
  
Oh right, this is still in prelude mode like the last two chapters.  
  
Disclaimer: Everything associated with Sailor Moon is in no way, shape, or  
form owned by me. I don't intend to make any money off of this; that's up  
to the larger than life corporations out there. All that jazz about Sailor  
Moon in tons of disclaimers out there apply.  
  
  
  
  
email: doniswong@hotmail.com  
  
  
Rated: R (mild swearing, violence, and sexual innuendoes)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Clean"  
Chapter 4  
  
A Portrait of a Killer  
  
A fanfic  
by  
  
Don  
  
  
  
  
  
It comes so easy. A flick of a wrist, a wiggle of a finger, a jerk of a  
forearm - I almost feel like a crook for charging my outrageous sums. But  
then, if people want to pay me, who am I to turn them away? Who am I to  
disregard money?  
It would be sacrilegious to not honor man's inherent drive for  
satisfaction.  
It would be a heresy to inadequately pleasure my beloved.  
My beloved... Fondly, I caress her picture sitting atop my large oak  
desk; I stare into it, feeding off of it, letting its nourishment seep into  
my bones. Her beautiful summer sky blue eyes peel away the darkened clouds  
above while her long, golden hair radiates like the sun, basking all in  
unheard warmth. Arms spread to the heavens, I wonder if she is an eagle  
taking flight or a rain goddess calling forth her elements. Which indeed,  
for a clear reply would confound me utterly: her wings let my heart soar  
while her elements, elements of love and happiness, rain down upon my  
bloodied hands, making them clean.  
Is she mortal on God's land or God on mortal land?  
Which indeed.  
My soul leaps at the very thought of her, of her lush lips and flawless  
figure. How I long to hold her in my arms, to idle the night away on floor,  
couch, or bed. How I yearn to please her, to see that smile - oh, that  
wonderful smile! - and know my crimes be born of undying love...  
But alas, she sleeps in my bedroom, covered by down and silk. Disturb  
her torpor I dare not, for once she wakes, she will plead I cease what I am  
about to do and come to bed. Defy her? Not a nerve nor a fiber in my body  
dares so. I will give up at her slight prompting and find joy in her arms.  
My hands will remain unstained for one more night...  
However, they have stayed clean for long enough. I have not the heart  
of an angel - like my beloved - but the twisted essence of Death. In them I  
find my other calling: a calling to murder and mayhem.  
Come now, the night is young and my hands are itching. Wish my  
excursion Godspeed and my beloved goodnight.  
  
**************  
  
Montreal is certainly beautiful. While the summer heat bakes everywhere  
else to a crisp, this place remains indifferent because of its geographical  
position. Somehow, global warming has made this place nicer, taking away  
the harsh snowy seasons and replacing them with mild rains.  
As the sun sets in the western horizon, I lean on the security railing,  
almost as if to touch the red star. They say that the pollution makes for  
the beautiful sun set.  
So much to see and so much time to spend. Released from my chains of  
duty and depression, I am free to roam wherever I please, whenever I  
please. A few weeks here, a few months there, freedom was never so free to  
me, not even during my teenaged years.  
Walking down the bustling street, I take my time to do some window  
shopping at this commercial smorgasbord. Everything imaginable lines the  
streets, everything from simple but alluring street delicacies to  
mock-upper-class clothing. The food and the clothes don't interest me much  
- I've tasted and worn better - but the little trinkets do catch my  
attention.  
I bend down and take hold of a small ivory ring, one uncracked and  
unblemished. Quite an unusual piece. Given that elephants went extinct a  
few hundred years ago and that ivory doesn't keep well, this is a treasure  
many times over.  
"How much?" I ask the woman sitting behind her makeshift counter.  
Leering behind her tarnished eyepatch, she grunts and yells in a  
banshee's voice, "Twenty!"  
"That's it?!" I'd feel bad if I were to buy it at this price.  
"Fifty!"  
For once, I should keep my mouth shut. "Fifty it is."  
Throwing down a few bills - bills which are quickly snatched - I go  
further down the street and turn a corner. From her post, the old hag  
stares at me with a strange look, in her fist clutched my money. Regret -  
I've seen the expression many times before. Regret for a loss not meant to  
be, regret for something not regrettable till lost.  
I want to return the ring, but human greed takes over. Indulgence of  
the highest degree overwhelms my humane respect. I figure my money would  
buy her and her family a number of decent meals, maybe even a few other  
trinkets.  
Be my mind split between selfishness and shame, now is too late to  
change anything. I let myself wander too far away; I can't find my way  
back. Perhaps another day when my demons aren't as vocal, I'll find myself  
wandering these streets and find the old hag; then I'll return her ring.  
For now, I'll consider this a gain, a justifiable gain.  
Lifting the ring up to the waning light, I read a neat line of writing  
strewn on the outer portion of the ivory.  
"T'was grief felt before grief known."  
I'm sure the old hag could relate to those words... perhaps why she  
looked at me with those relenting eyes too.  
Ahhhh, my heart gets the better of me. Not knowing where I am, I turn  
around and begin winding around city blocks and alleyways, trying to find  
that woman again.  
Over there was it?  
Maybe around there?  
Damn this bazaar! One street looks like the other! While one belches  
with excess of people, another lays abandoned! How could a place be so-  
"HHHHEEEEEELLLLLPPPP!!!"  
My ears perk like cat's, battle senses kick in. Without so much as  
thinking, I transform - though strangely this be one of the abandoned  
avenues - and leap to the roofs, making my way over to the source of the  
desperate scream.  
Sailor Venus has taken over.  
There! In one of the dark crannies of this place! More screams emanate  
from the alley, but I doubt anyone cares; trouble is the last thing anyone  
wants to get into in this land. With gracefulness brought forth by a  
thousands years of existence, I quietly scamper to the roof above the scene  
and peer down.  
Yes, yes, classic damsel in distress. She backs away to the  
trash-filled dead end, all the while waving her hands about and wailing for  
a caring soul. Her eyes are as wide as a skeleton's sockets; apparently,  
whoever is approaching her is a forbidding figure to say the least.  
That brings me back to the problem at hand: the reason for the  
screaming.  
At first, I don't see anything, only darkness. Then, a ripple appears,  
a ripple like that of a cape or cloak. The shadows in the alley obscure my  
vision, but I soon make out the form of a man wearing all black, like an  
emissary of Death. He wields a formidable sword - didn't know people used  
swords anymore - coated with a non-reflective substance. He wears a mask,  
one reminiscent of Endyimon's back in his youth, though this killer's is  
dark like the night.  
Slowly he approaches. I can readily discern his pleasure in every  
wretched scream and pathetic plea; the joyful spring in his step every inch  
he sidles closer is testimony enough. What a sadistic bastard! To not only  
kill but take joy in killing! Obviously, he knows not of pain, for if he  
did, he would not be here reveling in the misery of another.  
He would not be killing in the first place.  
No one who knows how painful it is to suffer would allow suffering.  
I know not who his victim is; I care not what she has done. What lies  
before my eyes is a murderous demon and helpless soul. The woman may not be  
one worth saving, but this twisted assassin is worth killing.  
Taking aim at his heart, I charge a deadly beam of my crescent energy,  
check the trajectory, and let it soar.  
I expect a flash of light and moment of silence. I expect the thumping  
of a body - that son of a bitch's body. I expect the screaming woman to  
look on in surprise, then run away. I expect an easy job.  
But life isn't always what we expect.  
Within the split second of my attack going from my fingertip to his  
chest, the killer lurches aside - apparently aware of my attack - and  
instead of the golden light piercing his heart, it glides through his  
shoulder. He grunts loudly, clutching his injury, and looks skyward in my  
direction.  
The shadows cover me, revealing only my visage and golden hair. He  
starts but recovers his fumble in short order. Wasting not word or action,  
he throws an object to the ground, an object which produces a bright flash  
and smoke screen.  
No! I wasn't expecting this! Relying on my instincts, I jump into the  
fray, hoping to catch the man trying to escape. As I hit the ground, I am  
treated to a sickening slash and a bloody croak. The audacity of the  
mongrel! He used the diversion to help kill his victim, not escape from me!  
Immediately, I know I'm not dealing with a common street thug or an  
inexperienced killer. Caution must be my guide.  
There! Shuffling of feet against the wall! He's trying to climb over  
the dead end while he still can! Blindly, I hurl another Crescent Beam in  
his direction, one that results in another grunt but no fall of body. My  
bloodlust urges me to take to the roofs; I can easily catch a doubly  
wounded man.  
Good sense, however, holds me back. Killer I can catch another day;  
human life leaves but only once.  
As the smoke clears, I am treated to the gargling noise of a young  
brunette choking on her own blood. Her throat is cleanly slashed ear to  
ear; there is no other mark.  
  
************  
  
Who was that deadly, deadly killer?! Who?!  
The way she moved - cunning like a fox.  
The weapons she used - unfortunately I know not.  
The fighter's instincts she had - honed to split the behind hair of a  
rat.  
By luck I am still alive, either by luck or mercy. Who, praytell, who  
did old man Gilbert hire to protect his woman?! Why did she not strike when  
I dispatched his other guards?!  
Ahhh, by God are these wounds terrible, searing. For all intents and  
purposes, I won't be doing anymore jobs for the next few weeks - or at  
least, until I get to a doctor. That Angel of Death be skilled in the ways  
of her master, but she is no bodyguard. No, had her mind been set on  
protecting old man Gilbert's woman, the whore would still be alive. This...  
this THING seems to be after me instead.  
My employer better pay me well after this fiasco, that is all I can  
say. When my payment comes, I will disappear until I heal, until that  
monster lets her guard down. Then I will settle the score. No one shall  
ever threaten my place and live to tell about it.  
I am Death's only emissary, that way it will remain, for I-  
"James?"  
A light flickers on followed by the slight pitter patter of slippered  
feet. No! My love! She must not see me like this, like a wounded lion.  
Quickly, I bite back the pain and meld into the darkened shadows of the  
living room. Perhaps she will think it the house settling or maybe some  
other noise. Perhaps she will come down here, see nothing, and return to  
bed.  
My dear Marianne, please don't come any further... for your own good as  
well as mine.  
"James?" she calls again.  
At last she reaches the bottom of the stairs. Cautiously, she scans the  
room, trying to reassure herself that no one is waiting to ambush her.  
Don't worry my love; no one knows we live here. My dealings with the  
underbelly of the world are much too pathetic to be in your presence. No  
one would know you're here, save me. You need not be afraid.  
Suddenly, her eyes light up. I follow her path of vision and give a  
slight jump myself. Blood - blood from my wounds - has spilled onto the  
wooden floor, pointing a trail to my hiding place.  
Thoroughly horrified, she jumps for the light switch and shouts, "Who's  
there?!"  
Only me, my darling, "Only me."  
Her features soften, replaced by a sense of relief, though the relief  
short lived. Now that she sees me, her heart skips a beat - maybe even two  
or three - from my wounds.  
Concededly, I limp back to the couch and sit myself down, continuing  
with bandaging the gaping holes. "Go back to sleep," I say, not wanting her  
to see the gore, "They're not as bad as they look."  
Face a stoic board, she looms over me and asks, "Where were you?"  
"Accident," I reply out of habit, though the reflex not completely  
untrue.  
"Why do you have to always lie to me?" whispers she, her eyes closing  
to stop the tears.  
We've been through this before, many times before. "What do you want me  
to answer, darling? I was out killing somebody? I was out slitting a poor  
girl's throat? I was out drinking with the guys and shot a mob boss?"  
"No, James, no... You swore you would never do this again. You swore  
that after you had enough money, you would stop. Look around you! You have  
more money than those people who hire you! Why do you lie to me? Why don't  
you stop?"  
"Do you think I take joy in watching people suffer?"  
"Yes!"  
We stare at each other, unmoving, silence reigning supreme until I  
muster every ounce of willpower to break its grip. "I don't like to see you  
suffer."  
"But what about others, James?" She turns her back to me, trying even  
harder to hide the tears. "What about others? Don't forget that I've seen  
you do it before. You take joy in a person's squirming, crying..."  
"But I don't like to see you suffer."  
"Does it look like I'm suffering?!"  
"Yes."  
Rising from the couch, I tenderly wrap my arms around her body and kiss  
her on the cheek. I taste a hint of salt water, so I carefully wipe the  
stream of tears away from her unblemished face. "My conscience aches..."  
"As does your arm and leg."  
"... and believe me, I do this out of love..."  
"Love for me or for Death?"  
"... your suffering is all I need to know..."  
"Then you still don't know what suffering is."  
"... when will you believe my uttered words, 'I love you'..."  
"When you start acting, not uttering."  
"... and see how my crimes touch me too?"  
"There are no crimes in your eyes; only sacks of gold and money."  
"You injure me, Marianne. Have you no eyes to see that I am wracked  
with pain at your rejection?"  
"My eyes tell a different story, one of a man deceiving the one he  
loves for fortune."  
"Then you don't see the truth-"  
"Fine! I may be blind, but now I will open my eyes! Do you, James -  
love of my life and bane of my conscience - love blade or beloved?!"  
My mind stumbles at the blatant question. I am unable to answer for  
that split second; my tongue is somehow held back from giving the answer I  
want to give.  
She takes the moment of forced hesitation as a sign of indecision.  
"I thought so," she hisses, "Thirty years James, thirty years we have  
known each other. Besides my mother you were the first person I saw! We  
were born on the same day, on the same hour, on the same minute, at the  
same place! Had fate not so mercifully decreed, we would have been  
siblings! You and I, we know each other through and through. We love each  
other through and through. But day after day, year after year, you lie to  
me James, lie like a fiend! I accept you for who you are, but I cannot  
accept what you do to others! I thought I could change you with kindness,  
but now I see I was too kind! Why do you not see your wrong?!"  
"Because I am doing it for you."  
Heart wrenching sobs shatter my resolve and I buckle. "If it pleases  
you," I beg, slowly making my towards her, "I will give up my profession of  
Death. It would be safer for me too, given another of equal or greater  
ability has appeared on the scene."  
But my words fall on deaf ears. Like the boy who cried wolf, I am  
ignored because of my past transgressions. With a swing of her hand, she  
slaps me to the floor and makes a dash for the front double doors. She  
flings them open like an artist unveiling her work and indignantly stares  
into my wincing eyes.  
"Liar," she cries once more, "How many times have you spat those words  
to me?! If it takes my rejection to stop your bloody rampage, then I gladly  
serve you my hate and spite on a golden plate! I would rather forsake my  
love than see ten others lose theirs!"  
In her white, silken nightgown, she rushes to the streets, but even  
before she can get to the porch, a sound I dread shatters the quiet, sleepy  
night.  
A loud, single, whip-like sound.  
"Marianne!"  
An abrupt scream accompanies a dull thud; my blood boils in my veins,  
further aggravating my wounds. This is but a mere dream, I say, a mere  
dream! Surely I have lost too much blood and this is only a hallucination!  
My instincts - my dreaded, pinpoint instincts - have for once failed me!  
The thud was only of the door closing... only the door closing and nothing  
more.  
Hurriedly, I crawl in her direction screaming, "Marianne! Marianne!"  
No answer.  
By chance she left already? Yes, yes, that's it. She's left already!  
She was sure infuriated at my antics; a quick departure would not be  
unlikely. Just like her too, to speak her mind and storm off. What a  
kidder, no?  
"Marianne!!!"  
I crawl closer, leg and shoulder numb from the pain. You know, maybe if  
I crawl fast enough, I might even catch a visage of her walking off down  
the street! Yes! When I make it to the porch, I'll see her sneering at me -  
oh that wonderful sneer! - and I'll call her back! She'll listen, I know  
she will! She'll... She'll...  
... be dead.  
Lifting my eyes up, I finally succumb to the dreaded reality. The  
whip-like sound was a weapon - any number of weapons - and the thud her  
body on the wooden porch. Her arms are spread out like she was about to  
embrace me. Her face is serene save the trickle of blood flowing down the  
corner of her mouth.  
Her body is perfectly intact except for the huge hole in the chest from  
which steam rises.  
"Marianne!!!"  
I cradle her limp head in my arms and cry. Cry, cry, cry, cry, cry! I  
cry like a baby, I cry like a woman, I cry like a widow! Please say this a  
cruel joke, one played by vengeful gods and immoral goddesses!  
Bringing my lips to hers, I sneak a kiss, perchance to find a sign of  
life. Instead of warmth surging forth as it usually does when we kiss, a  
severe chill freezes my marrow and thickens my tears.  
My Marianne... my beautiful, lovely, angelic Marianne... come back to  
me... it is all I wish for...  
I take back my insincere words. I relinquish my post as Death's  
emissary. I return all my wealth to its rightful owners.  
I'd do all of that and give my life to see you flutter your eyes.  
Wake up, damn you! Wake up! You can't be dead, no, not like this, not  
while hating me, not without some last words. At the least, give me the joy  
of hearing your wonderful voice however soft!  
... at the least, forgive me for what I have done...  
But I know all is in vain... thirty years our love has been cultivated,  
nursed... thirty years, all to end in an instant by the whim of some  
cowardly finger.  
I swore to protect you, but now, I see I have failed miserably. As God  
as my witness, I will avenge you. For me, dying is not an option. Those  
cowardly bastards will have their day, have their day to taste my blade for  
all they've done to me.  
All they've done... what do I mean, "All they've done?" Your death is  
"All" enough!  
I wish your soul Godspeed, Marianne. As to me, there are long nights  
ahead, and the seed of vengeance has only begun to sprout.  
  
************  
  
Alicia Ramses, wife of notable charity worker Gilbert Ramses. She was  
twenty seven, he is forty seven. Classic gold digger scenario but they  
maintain the marriage was an unbelievable fairy tale. She was killed by an  
assassin - a rather famous one at that - who was most likely contracted by  
one of Gilbert's enemies. The killer is still at large, beware all citizens  
of this city.  
Amazing what one can learn from the newspaper.  
"Yeeeaaahhh, darn shame, eh?"  
I cock my head and peer strangely at the middle aged waiter.  
"That Alicia Ramses," he says, pointing to the headline of my paper,  
"She was a beaut, eh? Had it made too living with old man Gilbert and all,  
eh?"  
Smiling at the man, I spout a quick, "Yeah, what a shame," before  
moving onto another subject, another more interesting subject. "I'm new  
around and I just don't get why everyone's crying over this."  
He replies with a short laugh, albeit boisterous and loud. "Ma'am, it's  
best you don't know either!"  
"Enlighten me."  
He scoots into the chair across from me and begins weaving his story of  
underworld politics and regional common knowledge. Turns out this Gilbert  
fellow, though great giver, is a fairly questionable character. He's like  
Al Capone to Chicago or Al Paccino to gangster movies: he owns Montreal. Of  
course, power struggles between smaller factions occur all the time, only  
this certain round particularly hurt the mob boss, both socially and  
emotionally. People making a big deal out of this are either truly grieving  
or grieving in order to rub salt into the wound.  
Amazing what one can learn from a waiter.  
"Confounded, eh?"  
I shake my head and press on. "Who's this killer? Must be pretty  
effective," effective... yeah, that's a good way to put it, "if he can take  
out all the bodyguards."  
"Ay, nobody really knows. Only a few people - those big important  
people - know how to contact him. Heard he's been around for ten years at  
least; never fails to get his mark." He coyly sidles closer to me and  
lowers his voice to a mysterious whisper, "Makes one think, eh? Could be  
your neighbor, your best friend, your father, even your lover, eh?"  
"Why don't you tend to your business before you try your hand at mine?"  
I point to the growing line of impatient customers growling at the door for  
their breakfast.  
Like a slapped servant, he hurries away and leaves me alone to finish  
my meal.  
A mysterious assassin who works for the crime syndicate... Sounds so  
cliche. Where's the private eyes in trenchcoats and corrupt cops chewing on  
donuts while looming over a body? Yeah, this is cliche alright. Classic mob  
boss, classic murder, classic "Who-Done-It" scenario - almost gives me the  
urge to step aside and let some other brave soul handle it, like MacGuyver  
or Dick Tracy.  
Almost.  
No use in denying that a sadistic animal is on the loose, one not even  
a bomb made of Bisquik can stop. This might as well be my first good deed,  
my first baby step toward some kind of redemption.  
Never was a better time to start than now.  
Folding up my newspaper, I throw some money on the table and make my  
out to the streets. If I'm going to find out who this mystery meat cleaver  
is, I'll need a list of suspects.  
Guess it's time for Sailor V to make a sudden comeback.  
  
**************  
  
"James, James, James... How in God's name did you get this way?"  
I grimace at the doctor and grunt, "Accident."  
"Sure," he breathes, "I always fall on things that impale my shoulder  
and thigh, eh?"  
"Just shut up and do your job."  
No more snide remarks left, he returns to busying himself with his  
medical equipment. I'm guessing a few shots here, a quick run through with  
his surgical tools and I'll be fine. Oh, right, and don't forget the  
obligatory "Don't-strain-yourself" speech.  
"Well," he says holding a big, long, needle like object, "I'm going to  
have give you a few shots to get the wounded area numb enough for this  
laser here to do its job. Then, I'll graft some skin and meld it back  
together. I'll stick a few artificial bone implants in there too; they'll  
last until you actually heal." Firing up his laser, the doc puts on a pair  
of goggles and prepares to give me a thorough thrashing, but before that,  
"Oh, right, and James? Don't strain yourself after this operation. I'd hate  
to see all my work go to waste."  
"Of course."  
"Now close your eyes chap, you might not want to see this."  
  
Thirty minutes later...  
  
Shrugging on my coat, I wince at the tenderness brought by the doctor's  
surgery. My limbs will not be a hundred percent, but they'll do; vengeance  
waits for no man, not even the one seeking it. If I'm going to find out who  
killed my beloved Marianne, a great deal of investigation must be done.  
Time to pay a visit to some friends of mine.  
Never trusted them much, but when there's enough cash in front of their  
faces, they'll sell their mothers in a-  
By accident, I crash into a woman; we both fall over, landing in an  
undignified heap.  
"Excuse me," I dejectedly reply, slowly getting up as to not tax my  
wounds.  
The woman lifts her head - her golden crown - and peers at me with two  
globes of sapphire blue eyes. My heart skips a beat. Then another. My God,  
this angel's appearance reminds of-  
"Sorry," she quickly apologizes, "I just wasn't..."  
"Have we met before?"  
A questionable look breezes by her face, a look that brims with  
tiredness of the situation. "No, and I'm sure of it. I really have to go so  
could you please-"  
Beside myself with ghostly recognition, I grab hold of woman's hand and  
say, "Do you know the name Marianne?"  
"No," she answers firmly.  
"Are you related to the good family of-"  
"NO."  
"Do you know my face?"  
"NO! Now leave me be!"  
Alas, I am but grabbing at straws. What's the chance of Marianne alive,  
or better yet, her having a long lost relative I've never met? Slim to  
none. Slim to none.  
Thoroughly embarrassed, I release the doppelganger's hand. "Sorry," I  
apologize, casting my eyes at the ground, "I... I completely lost myself in  
the moment. Excuse me for my brash behavior."  
Sad, sad, sad... so pathetically sad to see her eyes in all who pass.  
But I can't help it; every blonde head, every blue eye - they remind me so  
much of my lost love, lost to the coward's bullet. Can I help but laugh at  
myself, laugh at myself for being so naive?  
So cowardly?  
So hopeful?  
Can I help myself?  
I can't, so I let out a short, sad, pathetic laugh. Sounds like a noise  
only emitted by the conceited, but who am I to view that label in negative  
light? Without her, without her love, without her warmth, without her  
conscience, I might as well be a conceited shell.  
It's a step up from wherever I'm presently at.  
Turning away, I hoarsely whisper, "Sorry," once more, hoping to make a  
quick exit in the confusion. I've already embarrassed myself enough in  
front of this young lady, no need to demote myself to a pansy by bawling  
like a baby in her presence.  
So I run, just like how any person would handle it. My blood may be  
cold as ice but because of that, my heart is as brittle. Achilles heel of  
the killer - we don't defend against emotional breaches very well.  
Twisting and turning through road and rue, I end up on a small  
fisherman's pier. Dank deadwood cracks under my shoes, the only other sound  
my tears slowly falling to the hollow ground. Here I can be alone, cry to  
myself, and beat myself up over what-ifs and what-nots in perfect privacy.  
I can be with Marianne, if not in body, then perhaps, maybe... just  
maybe... in spirit.  
My legs automatically give out; I slump to the wood, nearly bursting  
through it with my sudden shift of weight. My hands shake uncontrollably,  
memories of her blood caked over them invade my mind. Her lips - her cold,  
cold lips - pressed against mine for one last time - the odd feeling surges  
forth and envelopes me. Steam from the warmed water rising into the cooled  
air reminds me of the steam rising from her chest, her mangled chest.  
I remember, though remembrance likely since the event recently passed,  
but I don't want to remember. It hurts so much to live with this emptiness,  
this unfulfilled gap, this sense of guilt.  
To see thirty years of life, love, and utter perfection uprooted before  
your very eyes... it's... it's...  
A hand comes to rest on my shoulder. Normally, I would spin around,  
perhaps throw a short elbow and roll away to have more room to maneuver.  
But no. I don't feel like fighting today. The fleeting train of vengeance  
has left its station without me, leaving me behind to eat the bitter dust  
and stale wind. My resolve has abandoned me to my own device of torture,  
the conscience.  
My, my, my, but I'd rather bear the wounds of an army than hear my  
inner demons...  
... maybe this nameless hand will silence them for me.  
"I believe you dropped this," sounds a cool, gentle voice. Another hand  
appears from behind holding my wallet. "Couldn't you have run a little  
slower? I don't bite... at least, not anymore."  
"Thanks," I mumble, my voice trembling like a scared little kid.  
Weight shifts, making the old wooden dock creek with agony. A gentle  
thump later, I am treated to a concerned look by the woman I left behind  
mere moments ago. She smiles at me like a goddess. Her radiance seems to  
bounce off of the water, plunging the rickety dock in a soothing, peaceful  
light. The birds chirp louder, the water looks clearer, and the air is  
crisper - she breathes life into these comatose objects, restoring them to  
their former glory.  
It's amazing, beautiful...  
Even without saying a word she reminds me of my dearly departed  
Marianne...  
"It might not be my business to pry," she begins, "but it's not every  
day a grown man runs away crying like a baby, so I'm fairly curious about  
your state of mind."  
I glance at woman and sigh. "You won't care. Besides, piling my  
troubles onto you won't help you any."  
"But it might help you."  
It sounds like something she would say, so brimming with hope and  
concern. That kind of heart is rare in these days, rare enough that a man  
would be lucky to even come in contact with one. Am I so blessed as to see  
two infinitely merciful souls? "Are you sure you aren't Marianne?"  
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, "Who is this Marianne you keep  
referring to?"  
"My love," I reply, "She was recently... taken."  
"My condolences."  
"As well as mine."  
Like so, we talk through day, soaking in the abnormally peaceful  
surroundings. Shooting the breeze - I believe that's what Americans call  
it. She asks about this, about that, about me, about Marianne, about life  
in general. Though answers deep and personal, I feel comfortable around her  
and let her see my true self, the one with the sensitivity and sadness. I  
can tell she feels sorry for me and hates to see my suffering; perhaps she  
hates to see it in all human beings. There's a sense of goodness abounding  
in her, a sense of hope in a world where there is none. In that respect,  
she is so much like Marianne, so happy, joyful, and... and... wonderful.  
"You would have liked Marianne," I say while skipping a rock, "You two  
think so much alike."  
"And how do you think I think?"  
"I think you know how I think you think," I wink mischievously, "All  
believing in the world and such. You're an optimist, unafraid to work  
toward changing the world for the better."  
She laughs at my comment, laughing like it's the funniest thing in the  
world. "So you think I'm a saint or something?!"  
"Something like that."  
"My, my, my... people can be so wrong..."  
Thinking turnabout is fairplay, I flip the question around and ask,  
"What kind of person am I?"  
Her eyes gloss over me, picking apart my every moral fiber, appraising  
me like a general or drill sergeant; I stand tall under her scrutiny, stand  
tall like I have something to prove. Already I consider her an equal though  
we've only know each other for five hours. There's a special quality in  
her, one that invokes trust, friendship, and love.  
Absentmindedly, I wonder if she really is an angel, someone Marianne  
sent down from heaven to help me with my wounded heart and mind.  
"You're a good person," she says after a long silence, "Not many in  
this world have the ability to love and grieve like you. I know you're one  
of the few souls with a heart because of the love you have for Marianne."  
Now it's my turn to laugh! If only she knew... If only she knew...  
  
************  
  
It's funny how things just kinda take off. This morning I was hell bent  
on reliving the life of a crime fighter, but tonight, I feel like doing  
nothing but lounging on a large armchair and talking...  
Plus it's raining outside, so James' house is more than a comfortable  
shelter from the elements.  
Speaking of James, what an unique character, no? He's mysterious and  
dangerous, but at the same time quite intriguing and passionate. I guess  
the best way to describe him is negatively seductive - he draws you to him  
through faults and weaknesses. Only hours ago did we have our first  
exchange, and now, I'm sitting in his lavish abode, listening to his pains.  
Feels like I'm intruding somehow. His love of thirty years just died  
and I'm here looking like I'm swooping in for his heart. Real smooth  
Mina... Real smooth...  
As the grandfather clock tolls six, James gets up from his seat and  
stretches. Noticing the time, he offers me his hand and says, "Would you  
like some dinner? I know this nice seafood place not far from here."  
I really shouldn't. I'm intruding as it is and accepting him would be  
leeching off of him. I really shouldn't overstay my welcome. Besides,  
there's work to be done, murders to be solved, and killers to be brought to  
justice. Procrastinating will only lead to more bodies and more problems.  
"Yeah sure. Thanks, James."  
Stupid, stupid, stupid!!! Maybe I should think before I open my trap  
from now on, or at least keep my hormone induced thoughts in check...  
Hormone induced? Did I just say, "Hormone induced?"  
"Hm?"  
Oh great. "Sorry, nevermind."  
Shrugging off my Freudian slip, I grab my overcoat and wait for James  
to get an umbrella. "Are we going to walk or drive?"  
"Walk," he replies, "It's very close by and I thought a walk in the  
rain would be..."  
He blatantly lets the rest of his sentence taper off, half stopping  
himself, half expecting me to finish it for myself. I decide to let it  
slide, letting it mean nothing but that of a suspended thought. Words mean  
nothing unless people assign values to them; his words are nothing as long  
as I don't think about them.  
This is but a mere dinner, I tell myself, a fee for my troubles;  
afterall, I did return his wallet, I did comfort him in his time of need,  
and I did accompany him back to his house. This is a friendly gesture, a  
casual thank you for a shred of pity and patience. I should start taking  
life at its face value and stop looking into deeper meanings; subterfuge  
only produces undue head and heart aches.  
What I don't think cannot hurt me...  
Clearing his throat, James hooks my arm and opens the door. It's  
raining outside, raining hard, so hard in fact it's hard to see. With the  
sun set and moon clouded, the droplets of water turn into black sludge, as  
black as the hollow night. They seem to be products of the dreary  
atmosphere, like projectiles thrown by ungodly creatures to muffle the  
senses.  
Tonight, there will be more accidents.  
Tonight, people will cower in their mansions, homes, and sheds, waiting  
for liquid death to pass.  
Tonight, all life in this battle field will drown. The grass will die,  
the birds will fall from their nest, the squirrels will freeze, and the  
homeless... the homeless will drown in their own fluids, drowned from a sea  
of uncaring, unforgiving, and undying peers.  
Makes me wonder why I'm out here at all.  
"Shall we?" James says, smiling brightly. I nod.  
With the flick of his wrist, the black umbrella opens and shields us  
from the relentless pellets of water. Suddenly, I can see again, the rain  
much less imposing. We walk slowly, huddled together to keep the warmth  
from escaping; it's natural reaction, nothing more. Indeed I do feel  
warmer, much warmer, like I was standing next to a fire. When I look up, I  
see his peaceful face, icy features of yesterhours melted away, emotional  
turmoil all but disappeared. While his dark trenchcoat, dark eyes, dark  
hair, and dark umbrella blend in with the night, his heart glows with  
unheard of passion, illuminating everything under his protection in  
rejuvenating companionship, friendship, and love.  
I should know being the Senshi of Love and all.  
He is a fighter this James character. He picks his battles well and  
defends his home till the end. A person like him is born to do great  
things... or terrible things. For all my years of living, I have only seen  
his kind of aura, poise, and demeanor once, that kind of heart which  
pulsates with determination, trust, loyalty, and innocence. I've seen it  
once - seen it in Usagi - but no more.  
Now, I see it in James, but only... only... different, like he had to  
work for it.  
"Tell me," I whisper, breaking our comfortable silence, "Why did you  
love Marianne?"  
Instead of adopting a mournful tone, he speaks wistfully, happily,  
almost as if she were still alive, quietly listening to our friendly  
bantering. "She's the person I want to be but can't be, you know what I  
mean? She's everything I'm not. I can't put aside my..." He pauses,  
undoubtedly to edit some information, "... my faults - my selfishness, my  
greed, my addictions - and see the world as she does. I want to be able to  
be like her because it's much happier, much more fulfilling. When I walk  
into an empty room, I say it's barren, dull, and boring. When she walks  
into an empty room, she says it's private, soothing, and peaceful. I want  
to be like that... but I can't." He flashes a longing glance my way and  
smiles lopsidedly. "I can't be like that," he repeats, "so I'll settle for  
loving someone who is like that."  
"Next best thing, no?"  
"Having the best is great, but second isn't bad at all."  
I grin at his past statement, noticing his progression toward his  
previously lofty dream. "But second," I remind him, "is the first loser."  
"Or the second winner," rebuts James, fully caught on to my subterfuge.  
"It's all in perspective."  
... It's all in perspective...  
It's all in perspective.  
How true is that? One man's fun is another's hell, no use denying it.  
For all our greatest moral, social, and economic accomplishments, we can  
never navigate around human nature, the ignoramus part of us that finds  
truth in subjectivity. While a bum would be perfectly happy in a small  
apartment, a rich man would see it distasteful and filthy. While someone  
may think they're helping, they may not be - history has taught us that  
scathing lesson many times, all the way from the Crusades to the Witch  
Trials to the Vietnam War to... to... the Purging.  
I can't think about it without cringing... but it also reminds me of a  
penance I set for myself just this morning...  
"Mina, are you cold? You're shivering."  
"It's nothing," I murmur, hiding my uneasiness by pulling my coat  
closer to myself, "I'll live, at least till dinner is done so I can die on  
a full stomach."  
Bemused, my newfound friend hugs me closer. "You would've loved  
Marianne. She had a full stock of those morbid little quips; used them like  
they were tattooed on the back of her hand."  
"I am not morbid!" I playfully fire back.  
"Uh-huh," he nods sarcastically, "It's all in perspective."  
"You're damn right it's all in perspective!"  
"Yeah, the right perspective and wrong perspective, i.e., mine's being  
right and yours being-"  
For that, I slyly stick my foot out to trip him, to give him a face  
full of mud water and acid rain. Call me morbid will you...  
"Let's see if you still think I'm morbid after you kiss the pavement."  
"Wha? Sorry, I wasn't paying att-"  
SPLASH!!!  
  
  
  
*******************  
Six months later...  
*******************  
  
  
  
I'm sure the days go by faster. Isn't it always the case when you're  
having fun? It's another one of life's little ways to screw you over,  
because, as they all say, "Life is bitch. Then you die."  
But I'll accept it. Time is one of the things I have plenty of. Think  
about now I've earned my right to be a carefree and contented spirit.  
As I lay on the bed in my silken nightgown, sun shimmering in from the  
translucent curtains, I breathe a relaxing breath, one that fills my mind  
with anticipation of the day ahead. Such has become my morning ritual for  
the past few months, to wake up and see how good life can be. I've seen the  
underbelly of society, seen it all from its impoverished multitudes to its  
corrupted aristocracy. I've always thought from a negative viewpoint, from  
the bottom of the emotional hole. I've always been faced with adversity -  
broken hearts, broken families, broken cities, broken promises, broken  
friendships - and it makes me focus on gaining physical, social, and  
emotional ground, never allowing me to enjoy what I have.  
I'm beginning to take stock of myself and stop living in the future  
because... because... the future is never certain, no matter how much I  
want it to be.  
I'm living in the now.  
I've realized that now is the only time a person can live.  
Call me selfish. Call me blind. Call me stupid. Call me anything you  
wish.  
None of it changes the fact: I am happy.  
Brushing off the dreariness of sleep, I amble downstairs, hoping to get  
a cup of hot tea or coffee, something to wake me up. Before I even sidle  
down the last step, the pungent aroma of French Vanilla assaults my senses,  
nearly jump starting my drowsy mind on smell alone.  
James is out of bed, undoubtedly going about his daily routine.  
Actually, his daily routine doesn't consist of much; it stops when we see  
each other. From there, we play each day by ear, succumbing to every whim  
and fancy imaginable by our fluttering hearts.  
I hear the clank of a fork and the scooting of a chair as I enter the  
kitchen. "Good morning," James greets, planting a playful kiss on my cheek.  
Already he has dropped everything, everything from his food to the morning  
paper: all of it for me.  
Isn't it great to be in love?  
We hold each other tighter, savoring in the warm, cozy, fuzzy feeling  
it brings. I sigh contently at the precious moment, swept away by the  
simple yet oddly comforting gesture. "I'd like to wake up like this  
everyday," I quietly murmur, almost in an utopian daze.  
"And so you shall," he promises, "forever and a day... that is, if  
forever and day isn't too long for you."  
"No. It's just right."  
We stay like that for an eternity, maybe even two, never moving, never  
tiring; being together is enough to occupy our minds and bodies.  
Yes, love is great; it makes everything else so much more wonderful!  
Look, over at the window! The sun - dull and filtered - shines as  
bright as it did a million years ago. Take a whiff of the kitchen! The  
coffee aroma - excessive and overpowering - calms to a mellow scent,  
filling the room with morning's freshness. And outside! Even the dew  
covering the grass simmers like diamonds - hundreds of thousands of  
majestic, flawless diamonds.  
Then, after the steam stops rising from the coffee and the dew  
evaporates, James raises his head and interrupts the romantic silence. "So  
what do you want to do today?"  
"Give me a few minutes and I'll tell you."  
"You need time to think?"  
"No."  
"Why then?"  
"I'm enjoying this. Don't ruin the mood."  
  
*************  
  
Karma... I never believed in it. Who in this day and age would believe  
in the ludicrous idea of "What goes around comes around"? If such was the  
case, the entire world be one barren rock, devoid of all life because of  
every living thing's sin: survival.  
Read the Bible a few times, in my infantile years of course, and even  
then it didn't make much sense. Some people - those religious, pious few -  
told me that the book boiled down to "Treat your neighbor as yourself."  
Ha! Not very practical advice, no, not even rational.  
Still, while impractical, irrational, and illogical, these ideas are  
true. Nothing may make sense, nothing may resonate with my spiritual  
nature, but my rejection does not make them false.  
It is especially hard to deny when proof of such words drag me to a  
screeching halt and stare me in the face.  
As I stand today in front of Marianne's gravestone, I prepare to close  
the first chapter of my life and begin anew, one with Mina. These past  
months have been a confusing maelstrom, mixed with hearty doses of regret,  
happiness, guilt, innocence, fury, and love. I always thought Marianne  
would out live me - my death, as I envisioned, would be early and unnatural  
- so I never considered what I would do without her.  
When she lay dead in my arms, my instincts told me to cry and weep for  
eternity, to hold her memory in my heart like an undying flame, hoping,  
waiting for her soul to find its way back to me. I thought the reaction  
natural, required by some unwritten law. Thirty years of childish rivalry,  
puppy love, dates, arguments, and reunions all disappeared like wisps of  
smoke; my heart shut down then and there, never expecting to turn back on.  
Imagine the guilt I felt when deadened emotions, locked away, held for  
one and only one special person, rumbled back to life... and for a woman I  
had never seen. I thought it wrong at first, unnatural and sickening. I  
ignored those feelings my heart poured forth and went about my dirty  
business of vengeance.  
I thought I couldn't love anymore.  
But now I realize that love can happen anywhere, anytime, any place. Am  
I being unfaithful? Perhaps. Am I being selfish? Maybe.  
One thing I cannot deny is life's inherent drive for happiness, for  
everything to wrap up in a neat little package. I loved- No! I still love  
Marianne...  
That's what drew me to Mina.  
Those two, they're so much alike in the ways they talk, act, think, and  
feel; one is synonymous with the other. At first, Mina peeked my interest  
because she, in my mind, WAS Marianne. I loved Mina because I love  
Marianne. The former was my desperate lunge for whatever pathetic remnants  
of old love remained. I took advantage of her, used her as fuel for my  
stubborn mind, used her to reject reality.  
She quickly proved to be much more than an object of remembrance.  
From smile to gait, she is her own person. She lives in the shadow of  
none other: when I realized her worth, I faced reality. She allowed - and  
still allows - me to face the world, the world without Marianne... Only  
instead of facing the world whining like a little baby, waiting for my  
beloved to show up at my side, I stand tall and move on.  
She gives me strength. She gives me purpose. In return, I give her  
myself.  
It just so happen she fell in love with me and my faults. I guess I  
remind her of someone too.  
Thus, from death born new life, from sadness rises happiness. Even in  
the darkest of times, life isn't bad; what God takes with his left, he  
returns with his right. Although Marianne lies forever in the cold earth,  
her spirit lives on in my heart, mind, and soul...  
... not to mention in the eyes of her heaven sent angel, Mina.  
And now, what I hold in my hand is the final piece of this vicious  
cycle, the thing that started me off on this voyage of life. Ironic it  
should be death, vengeance, but I'm sure God has a great sense of irony.  
Let me read it to you, Marianne. Let me rest your soul in peace at long  
last.  
"Dear sir, you are invited to the annual 'Masquerade Charity Ball' by  
the gracious host, Gilbert Ramses. Dress accordingly and appropriately for  
this occasion which will take place blah, blah, blah..."  
You get the picture. I was never good with words.  
For you Marianne, a measure of retribution - I know your death was his  
doing, I just know it. Months I have mulled over the question of who, what,  
why, and how: he is the only suspect. Him and his deadly... deadly  
killer... I've asked everyone, listened to every flapping jaw and moving  
lip. I know not what and how, but who and why are as clear as crystals.  
For you Marianne, my beloved. I bid you a farewell and a peaceful,  
restful goodnight, hopefully one less fitful than ones you've had in this  
mortal realm. As to me, the sun is rising: I must seize the day.  
  
***********  
  
I run as fast and as far as my legs can take me. The mask... the  
terrible, dreadful, inhuman mask finally reared its ugly head today, its  
perch set on the face of James. Months I hear not a peep from that cold  
blooded murderer; months I read not a single snippet of kills or marks. I  
thought he all but forgotten, lost to the injuries I had brought upon him.  
Little did I know I was sleeping with him.  
I... I... don't know what to say, what to think. One second I was  
dressing for a ball, the next and well, I'm here, sobbing like a kicked  
dog. And like a kicked dog, it hurts. The wound, the memories, the pride -  
it hurts so much I want to lay down and die.  
I remember, way, way back when, there was an American movie about a  
rape. The investigator arrested who he thought was the rapist and asked,  
"What's worse than rape?!"  
The guy behind the prison bars looked at his captor with steely, war  
hardened eyes and whispered, "When you find out, you'll know everything,  
won't you?"  
He eventually did find out what was worse than rape.  
Betrayal.  
The only thing worse than being violated is being violated by someone  
you trust... but trust doesn't express the bond we shared. I loved that  
man! Do you hear me?! LOVED, I say! For once in my life, I found somebody  
who would be by my side no matter what. For once in my life, I found a  
constant, someone I could hold on to! For once in my life, I found someone  
who was not just infatuated with me, but who also took me for who I was!  
Do you have any idea how it feels to live a thousand years, waking to  
the sound of your own breath each and every day? To open your eyes and find  
no one but yourself, to see love but know it not in grasp, to fight and die  
for life but never reap its rewards!!! What did I ever do to deserve such  
torture?! What did I do to be like a horse, baited by a carrot tied to a  
stick, forever seeing but never receiving the prize?!  
What did I do to taste what I've protected for generations then to have  
it taken away?  
It's cruel... unjust... UNFAIR!  
Why?! Why of all the people - the drunks, the crooks, the poor, the  
dumb - did it have to be James?! Why couldn't he at least find the courage  
to show me his dark side?! That way, my dreams would have been aborted like  
unwanted children, uplifted by the root before they could even see the  
light of day! No, he didn't tell; he had to live two lives, the one of a  
lover and the one of a killer! He had to have it all: the thrill of life  
and the chill of death.  
He used me, played me as a fool to satisfy some insatiable drive for  
more, more, MORE! I... I...  
... I was weak. I am weak.  
Above that, I was stupid to believe in love, especially for a pathetic  
sap like me. After all that time, haven't I learned that nothing turns out  
my way? Damn it, I was born to be a defender of justice and I even fucked  
that up!  
I think I need some time, time to myself, time to forget about the rat  
races.  
You know that feeling, don't you? That feeling you get when your soul  
becomes some sort of black hole, sucking in every emotion floating out  
there until sensory overload?  
Yes, that's how I feel. Legs fleeing in blind terror, hands quivering  
with anger, heart arrested by betrayal, spine stiffened by hate - yes,  
that's how I feel. That's all I feel, the tsunami of love relentlessly  
crashing into my useless levies. Every breath I take sears my lungs and  
powers the juggernaut of confusion; I grow weaker by the second under its  
depriving control, weaker like a wounded murderer.  
As I limp away from this town ready to find a new hole to crawl into, I  
just realize how much we are alike James and I. It is that likeness that  
drew us together and it is that likeness that crushed me.  
Two killers...  
Two insatiable drives...  
Two stubborn minds...  
Two injured souls...  
Two pairs of soiled hands...  
My, my, strange bedfellows indeed. We are the same, he and I, and I  
hate him for that. How did I ever love him when I couldn't even love   
myself?  
  
  
  
The portrait of a killer is like none other painting.  
First, you begin with a canvas as dark as his heart.  
Then, without rhyme or reason, you draw a man,  
Any man will do.  
How does this man look? Simple? Ugly? Charming?  
Does his eye gleam with feral prowess?  
Does his mouth curl like Achilles' lipless smile?  
Do you have a clue?  
Strange, my friend, is what the painting says.  
How alone this bringer of death, to share this perch with none.  
Stranger still, my friend, is how much this man  
Resembles you.  
  
  
  
  
**************  
Author's Notes  
**************  
  
Recently, I KNOW my writing has gone downhill. If you have any requests  
to make, critiques to add, please mail me. Next installment, I'm looking for  
a return to the first chapter, which is what I consider my best. Still, I  
hope you enjoyed this story; it was a great stress reliever for me.  
  
-Don.  



	5. Clean - Chapter 5

********

Foreword

********

This chapter is somewhat dedicated to a comatose drug addict. He was a

great person, a great bandmate, and above all else, a great friend. The

world was there to help him, but, like how all sob stories go, he pushed us

away. Many angry words were exchanged, wounds were dealt that would never

go away. I've known him for eleven years, ever since fourth grade. I told

him to get the hell out of my face, to never talk to me again.

Now, I only hope he lives to his next birthday.

Disclaimer: Everything associated with Sailor Moon is in no way, shape, or

form owned by me. I don't intend to make any money off of this; that's up

to the larger than life corporations out there. All that jazz about Sailor

Moon in tons of disclaimers out there apply.

email: doniswong@hotmail.com

Rating: R (cussing and illegal activities)

"Clean"

Chapter 5

A fanfic

by

Don

He's really down. Always gets this way when he comes back to the

palace. Can I really blame him? To travel all over the world, your hopes

leaping at every stop, then, to have it dashed like a ruined painting...

That's gotta suck.

"Cheer up, furball," I say, carefully sipping my coffee, "We'll find

her; you'll see."

"Right..."

Without another word, he curls up around his bowl of warm milk suddenly

very interested in the contour of the porcelain.

What else can I say to cheer him up? Absolutely nothing, that's what.

Minako is a friend to all of us, but she and Artemis, they share a special

bond. They're more than protege and teacher, mentor and charge: they're

family. Ever since the beginning, ever since those days in old England,

they've relied on each other for help and companionship.

Artemis to Sailor Venus is like Tom to Jerry, Donald Duck to Mickey

Mouse, Mamoru to Usagi - the unsung hero. Yes, I said unsung hero, but the

importance is by no means demoted: losing one is like breaking the spine of

the other.

I can relate to that... with all the close calls over the years, I've

sometimes wondered if Michiru and I would ever see each other again. And

you know something? That's the worst feeling a person can ever go through.

Death of a loved one, death of oneself - child's play compared to the

torture of the mind. To not know, to not have closure, to stand in one

place spinning around in circles speculating like a worried little nerd...

Yeah, I can relate to Artemis all too well. I know how the butterflies

flutter in his stomach, how every remote symbol of her sparks false hope,

how he thinks but cannot say a word about her fate, how he plasters his

face against the window waiting for a sign, any sign.

"I know," I whisper after finding the bottom of my cup, "Hang in

there."

Raising his tear soaked eyes, he glares at me with an expression

between annoyance and gratitude. He appreciates my help, but then again, he

has no use for my pity. Guess that's my cue to make a hasty exit, to give

him some time to think, time to forget about the rat races.

Besides, all this thinking has lured my thoughts back to Michiru; my

consciousness no longer resides in this room.

"Night furball."

He only grunts in recognition.

Halfway down the hall and about fifty feet from Michiru's office, I

hear the loud thump of a window closing.

Eh, must've been the wind coming and going.

**********

Everything is so quiet now, so calm and serene. I wonder how my world

could go from a topsy turvy spill to a rooted standstill. While the wounds

still sear and burn, they're not as painful anymore, not as big of a deal.

It's like a wild fire: having consumed all in its path, the only choice it

has is to simmer away, slowly but surely dying out.

I have nothing more to give, nothing more to burn. The ashes are all

that remain, ashes of hate, love, deceit, innocence. All that I've ever

cared about is gone, destroyed by four whole years of mistakes.

I can care no more. I've experienced life to the fullest, everything

from its highest mount to its lowest ocean floor...

In all of those places, I've tried to make my mark known, tried to make

things better for people, but again and again I always come back to the

question, "What's this life for?" If I cannot make the world better, if I

cannot be remembered, if I cannot even respect myself, why do I live?

That's right. I cannot live. That's why everything is so quiet now, so

calm and serene.

The only thing I hear is the hum of absolute silence.

It's a nice change of pace the silence, but when night falls, that's

when it becomes unbearable.

I get so scared... so, so scared. Each night when I fall into bed, I

lay silently awake, staring at every moving object, every glow in the dark.

My eyes dart between door and window, window and door, looking for an

excuse to throw myself from under the sheets. Each night I find a reason -

be it song of machine or yawn of self - to have my heart race like a little

hare.

I dare not close my eyes, tired or not. Midday my body feels light,

limp; midnight my nerves bristle with untold energy. Any second now, any

second now, and I all but wait for a sign, an omen.

Feet squirming, hands sweating, mouth drying, I hold myself down,

nailed to the mattress with godly fortitude. Quiet, much too quiet - I can

hear everything. Maybe that's the source of my fear: knowledge. No one

knows what happens at night, but I do. I have caught the spirits at work to

their evil, vile deeds. Lie around and the in-tune will hear of a

mind-grinding sound not unlike that of nails on chalkboard; they'll hear

that high pitched squeak which accompanies absolute silence.

Slow to succumb, I begin to twitch, first a muscle then a limb. I

fidget, squirm... squirm like a desperate animal in the clutches of its

hunter. I can't take it anymore... no more!

Desperately gasping for breath, I throw off the choking blanket and

back into a corner. My head touches the wall leaving a sweaty imprint on

the glistening paint.

The room is silent no more, its quietus shattered by my spastic heart

and ragged breathing. Ringing of solitary torture leaves me, hidden until

time once again. Ghosts of night's death retreat, off to haunt another

unlucky soul.

Tired... so tired, but sleep will not come, be it mortal or immortal.

Quiet... and so scared...

Without thinking twice, I lumber to the nightstand and reach out for

the little orange bottle with my trembling hand. The rattle reminiscent of

a child's toy beckons my ringing ears, beckons it with seductive chatter.

Slowly, I twist the lid open and dump the contents into my dry mouth.

Every pill feels like a stone in my throat. Every swallow tears at my

insides. Every capsule dirties my soul.

Then, it all goes away. Everything. The trembling. The squirming. The

sweating. The fear. The weariness. Even the silence.

Is this what heaven feels like? Nothing, and yet at the same time,

everything?

No one is here with me, but I don't feel alone. There is no sound, but

the hum of silence is no more. I like this. I like this so much I think I'm

going to go outside under the Hong Kong skyline and see how alone I can be.

As I exit the majestic confines of the hotel, I am assaulted by lights

of all shapes and sizes. Blobs of neon signs contort and spin around me

like planets. Noises from cars and foot traffic sound like heavy metal

songs, fast and furious. People bumping into me grow shorter, smaller, less

important; I tower over them like a giant. Meanwhile, my arms and legs

limber up becoming as light as feathers; I feel so graceful I think I'm

swimming, swimming in a sea of people.

I look down at these little men and laugh. Pathetic, aren't they?

Actually no, they aren't pathetic. If I - the one who is the oldest, the

most powerful, the most intelligent, and the most experienced - think

myself pathetic, what does that make them? I'm guess something below that.

So I laugh at them, watching them speed away in their cars, watching

them push and shove by. They fight the waves of time, trying to accumulate

enough of this so called happiness. They want to die in a queen's gown,

surrounded by family. None of them realize that they will die alone,

unloved, forsaken.

It happened a thousand years ago. It happened the thousand before that.

Their pathetic lives will continue to loop around this vicious mental

cycle...

... as will mine.

But I have an edge. While their lives end, mine doesn't. Death is

barred from entering my doors; he sits outside, tending to everyone else

but me. Meanwhile, I take comfort in not becoming worm food, because,

that's all we are - worm food. I will never lie in ground, cold and quiet.

I will always elude what I was fated to become. Quite an

accomplishment, no?

People start to stare at me. Grown men hustle by, sparing a boggled

look at me. Women give me a wider berth, pulling their children aside and

away while they try to tear their eyes off of me. The younger people? Some

laugh along with me, others walk by unoffended and unflinching.

Only I know the humor of the situation.

It's a cruel joke only I know, one only I can take pleasure in.

I laugh harder.

"What's so funny?" one of the younger people ask, one of the unoffended

and unflinching.

Amidst the barrage of people, planets, noise, and laughter, I notice

the young man rot before my eyes. His flesh falls away, slimy parasites

burrowing their way through his eye sockets. Bone - brown and brittle -

sees the light of day as his clothing atrophies into rags.

I look at my unblemished hand.

"What's so funny?!" the walking corpse repeats.

I put my hand on his shoulder bone and spit out through my hysterics,

"YOU!"

Unoffended and unflinching, he walks away.

The lights seem to darken now. The further and further I walk, a veil

of shadows falls faster and faster onto the land.

What time is it? Oh, what the hell; I lost track of time.

Shouldn't I be asleep right now? What is this? Since when did I set a

bedtime for myself?!

I'm scared. Oh grow up!

This is only a dark, lampless street populated by corpses... bony,

sickening, brownish corpses... and deadly... frightening...

... silence...

So alone all of a sudden - the bad kind of alone. My legs automatically

give way to flight, blazing down alleys of an undertaker's heaven.

Everything is unmoving, scaring me to new heights. I know I shouldn't be

alone, last I checked Hong Kong was suffering from over-population. What is

this feeling in me?! I don't want it!!!

Oh my God! I felt something on my arm! Rolling up my sleeves, I catch

sight of a worm crawling through my flesh. It snakes up to my shoulder and

rappels down my spine, caressing it with its slimy stomach. And there! On

my other arm! More and more of them appear out of nowhere, slithering

through my body!

In desperation, I slam myself against a wall. No good, they're still

there.

A chill strikes me. By natural reaction I curl up into a ball, trying

to keep warm. My breath freezes just as it leaves my mouth; I can reach up

and crack the icicles forming on my lips. Still the worms persist, never

leaving me.

I look down at my rotting hand and scream.

All around me... things all over me!!!

So cold... so dirty... so scared...

Suddenly, I fall and tumble down a steep incline. When I stop, I feel

no pain, only that slithering feeling. I yield to the sensation and sit

there, huddled up in a ball, tears falling onto my palms.

I tell myself I don't need them. I don't need those pills. I'm only

this way because I'm depressed. Surely depressed people feel sick to their

stomach, cold to the touch, and jumpy. Right? Yes, of course...

"Minako?"

Abruptly, I whip my head about, eyes still seeing all darkness... all

darkness but a single, illuminating point.

"Minako?"

That voice! It's so familiar yet so far off. It tugs at my heartstrings

and blares at my mind. It drips with concern, uncertainty, and above all

else, fear.

I hear a set of claws on gravel. The illuminating dot moves downward,

closer to me. The slight pitter patter of feline feet echo right next to me

as the voice tenderly repeats, "Minako? Are you alright?"

I weakly smile to myself.

"Furball..."

**********

W... Wha...? Where am I?

Carefully, I try to sit up but stabbing pain overcomes me. It's like a

thousand needles stuck onto you, like an acupuncture job gone bad. I grunt

at the sudden realization and fall back onto the... the... bed?

"Mina? Are you awake?"

Am I awake? Yes. Am I glad to be awake? "No."

A little paw comes screaming into my face, its fur making me sneeze.

Immediately, I begin running through the scenarios in my head.

Artemis is definitely here, but are the others?

I could be in Crystal Tokyo surrounded by my group of "friends..."

I could still be in Hong Kong, detained and chained by them...

Or it could just be Artemis and... and...

What better way to find out than to open my eyes? One by one, I peel

them open, a hazy film blinding them. For now, all I see are blobs of white

and yellow, the white blob moving slightly on its own accord. A blanket

covers me while a familiar weight rests upon my chest. Damn, why is it so

cold?

"Can you hear-"

"YES," I scream, the volume of my bellow inducing a massive headache.

For the next five minutes, everything is quiet except for my moans and

groans. It hurts - my heart, my arms, my legs, hell, my whole body - but

the greatest pain comes from the soul, from the anticipation of the moment.

What am I going to tell him? What am my going to tell them?

Unconsciously, I reach over to the nightstand.

"Looking for these?" asks Artemis, his arms saddling my orange medicine

bottle.

I blink a few more times, enough to fully focus myself on the situation

at hand. "Yeah," I mutter groggily, "Now give..."

Instead of handing it over, the little twerp leaps to the floor with

feline quickness. I follow, hauling my carcass off the bed. My legs give

out though, and I promptly kiss the carpeted floor of my hotel room.

"How the hell did I get back here?"

There's a sigh from some random direction. "You walked back here," he

replies, "You CARRIED me back here! Don't you remember?!"

Really? Interesting. "No. Now go away and give me my pills."

"Not until you tell me what they're for."

"They're for my headache," I spit at the no-good piece of shit cat,

"Hand them over!"

"No."

I isolate the sound - it's to my left - and get up, still staggering a

bit. I brush off the pain and sprint his way, aiming to haul him up by his

throat. No one - and I mean NO ONE - says no to me!

Wait a minute - where'd he go? I fly into the wall, smashing my middle

and index fingers, making a sizeable hole. Ah ha! Over there by the TV!

With another leap I snag, his fuzzy little tail.

"GOTCHA!"

He struggles under my grasp but soon gives up. Furball knows he won't

get away from me even if he tried. I expect a rattle my way - oh that

heavenly rattle - but it never comes. I open my eyes and see his white

behind sticking in my direction. He is motionless, still.

Getting up from the floor, I circle around to the front and bend down

to my knees. He gazes at me with reddened eyes - agitated from strain and

stress - and a pitiful face.

"I said 'Gotcha.' This is the part when you give up the goods."

Something slides down his furry checks; looks like tears. Removing his

stare, he curls into a ball and starts crying like a baby. Hmph, would you

look at that - a cat crying like a spoiled little brat.

Damnedest sight if I say so myself. If he's going to be this stubborn,

I might as well crack him open like a walnut: I'm getting pissed off at his

antics.

Before I bring my fist down on him, he pathetically whimpers, "Why?"

Why? Why what? Why did I leave him? Why did I leave Crystal Tokyo? Why

am I going to beat the living daylights out of him if he doesn't ease up?

Why what?

I'll assume it's why I left Crystal Tokyo; maybe that'll shut his

watering hole. Probably the million dollar question anyway. "Because THEY

make me sick-"

"No, no, no!!!"

Huh? With determined, somewhat saddened, eyes, the white blob recovers

from his fetal position and props himself up on all fours.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" he hisses, pointing at the goods,

"I could care less about what you think of me, the Senshi, and the world!

For all I care, you could hate us for our very existence! What I want to

know is why... Why are you fucking yourself over for some cheap high?!"

Because furball, "It makes me feel good. Makes me feel wanted." I yank

him up by the scruff of his neck and spit, "It's more than I can say for

the likes of you!"

"What did I do?!"

"What DIDN'T you do is more like it!"

My eye starts twitching in one of those bad ways. First there, then my

leg. No, it's not one of those quivering, earthquake sensations, more along

the lines of a minute muscle spasm that just won't go away. I ignore them

for now; there's a certain cat I need to deal with beforehand.

"Did you ever stop to think about me?" I ask, "My opinion, my

happiness, MY SELF meant nothing to you! I worked myself to the bone,

worked myself dead to please that girl you call queen! I gave my life to

that city-"

Damn!!! A bout of dizziness blind sides me, dropping both myself and

Artemis to the floor. The twitching only gets worse...

"... when... when will it be my time?" I gaze at my cat with all the

fury I can muster up. "It'll never be my time. That's why," with a point at

the pills, "a girl's got to dream... seems real enough..."

"You're killing yourself!"

"I'd rather kill myself than live a hollow life!"

It hurts again... My stomach is tying itself in knots. Can't see

straight anymore; so cold, I can't even feel the tips of my fingers. I let

a tear or two slide by, and no, it's not because I feel sorry or guilty -

my legs are cramped like the dickens. Add that to my vertigo and well...

you get the picture.

Just one... just one of them and it'll all go away...

Another frantic scramble later, I hear the bottle roll under the bed,

courtesy of that no-good-piece-of-shit. "Just give it up," I say, nearly

begging, "At least let me die thinking I'm happy... It's all I have

left..."

He shakes his head in anger. "All you have left?"

It's true, so I nod.

"What about me?! You're saying that's all you have left! Oh-la-di-da

Minako! What about me?! Forget all I have left! YOU," he shouts, leaping

onto my chest, "are all I EVER had!"

Liar! I swear, I won't listen to his desperate gibberish! He's trying

to make me feel-

"Think about it you selfish junkie! My life revolves around you! You

get the glory, the freedom, the desire to do whatever you want! Me? Oh, I'm

in charged of playing babysitter! That's all I've ever done and all I ever

will know how to do!"

NO! Lies, all lies!!! "You're trying to make me feel guilty!"

"As I should! No matter how much you want to deny it, other people

depend on you. If you're so dense you can't see that, then go on." He

strolls over to the bed and points under it. "Kill yourself! You don't

deserve to live! Being selfish is not a crime, but destroying other

people's lives is! Come on! Die like the pathetic sap you are! The Minako I

love died the night she ran away...

... I don't know what kind of sick trash sits in front of me."

That sniveling, fast-talking, manipulative- "Don't patronize me,

Artemis! Don't say you 'love' me! No one in the world ever did! They want

to use me, use my mind, my body, my soul. You - and that evil queen,

Serenity - are no exceptions!"

No exceptions... NONE OF THEM ARE!!! They aren't friends; no one is my

friend. My only friend sits in a plastic bottle under the bed, rattling...

rattling like a snake. Yes, my friend can cure me, comfort me like no one

else can. My friend can get rid of these shakes, this cold, the hate, my

life.

Muttering some dark phrases I couldn't understand, the cat saunters

away from me and heads to the door. "Bitter, selfish ingrate," he whispers

with a dangerous edge, "I went all over the world for you. Night and day I

sat by the window, wishing to everything held sacred that you were ok. I

came to Hong Kong as a goddamn stowaway! I cared for you, Minako; the

Senshi cared for you too. What could possibly change that except for your

own stupidity?!"

"My 'stupidity' is my salvation!"

"If you're so holy, why don't you tell that to God? Go on! Tell him how

you ran out on your friends! Tell him how you became a slithering coward

who sought comfort in some drug! Tell him how your friends care for you and

how you hate them! Tell him how you broke the soul of the being who cared

for you more than his own life!"

Stupid cat, he knows and he's mocking me! "You know I'm not going to

see God."

"Yeah," he nods, "That's because you're a selfish glutton-"

I'll finish that statement for you! "Because I'm a selfish glutton who

kills, right? A damned murderer who could've saved the world but didn't,

right?! A spineless, cowardly, dense whore who went along with the crowd

and doomed herself, right?!"

His eyes widen to epic proportions. His jaw drops to the floor. If you

ask me, he can stop the act now. He totally...

**********

... wasn't expecting this.

Calming my fried nerves, I manage to squeak out a hurried, "What?"

The day has already been a barrel of ups and downs. I don't think my

poor little brain can take much more of this... madness. Might be the drugs

talking and I prefer to keep myself thinking it's only that.

"You need help, Minako." Yeah, some professional help. Whatever she's

been doing for these few years has knocked more than a few screws loose.

Maybe I should leave; coming here was a mistake. For once, I genuinely

wish Haruka was with me; at least I wouldn't have these long silences to

deal with. Coming down to reality is hard, but I've got admit it - this

Minako doesn't want me around anymore.

"Bye," I gently sigh while turning around, "I'll leave you alone... for

good."

I'll be getting up from the roulette table now, with me a barrel of

good memories and ship-load of bad ones. Is this what closure feels like?

If it is, closure sucks. Whatever psyche-major thought that having a friend

kick you in the crotch felt good must've been some kind of sick

masochist... or on whatever drugs Minako is on.

After giving her a "This one's for the road" look, I pull open the door

and step out of her life forev-

"Wait," she begs, "don't go..."

Geez, please don't say that. Please just let me go! I can't stand being

this room for another second!

But my charge beckons me... and I can never say no to her no matter how

stupid she sounds.

Decisions, decisions, and a terrible palette of choices too. What's a

talking cat to do?

Huddling up into a ball, she buries her face in her arms and mumbles,

"Stay just a little longer... please?"

My legs move by themselves, plopping right in front of her. On closer

inspection, I see some fairly disturbing symptoms show up on her, stuff

like pale lips, uncontrollable shivering, and strange eye coloring. How

long has she been doing this stuff?

Too late to consider skipping out - I've committed myself to keep her

company... which wouldn't have been so bad if I knew her mood didn't go

from zero to homicidal in 2.2 seconds. I don't think my poor little heart

can take much more excitement.

Excitement which I know will inevitably come.

I'm sitting in a room with a Sailor Senshi in withdrawal: the situation

can't get anymore volatile. I only hope that she gets her marbles together

and starts talking rationally. Then, she can go back to the palace with me.

This time, I might not even have to be a stowaway on a cargo ship;

certainly don't want that ever again, the ride to Hong Kong was atrocious.

Like any good pet, I leap onto her shoulder and scrunch up against her

neck. Provides warmth and comfort, two things I know she lacks and needs.

For now, I forget about those previous, hallucinatory yet disturbing

moments; afterall, that's all they are, right? Hallucinations and

illusions.

She'll sound happier and more reasonable when whatever in her has

worked its way out... I hope.

Silently, I observe her through the corner of my eye. Amidst the

barrage of shakes and sighs, a faint smile cracks across her face, a

nostalgic smile. Can't help but give a toothy grin myself as I think back

to all the times we've shared together. At least, that's what I think the

smiles are for - the good memories.

Chuckling, I playfully nudge Minako with my paw, getting her attention.

"Remember all that fun we had when we were in England?" I ask, stifling

some giggles, "Those were the days, ne?"

"Hai," she replies, a wistful look dawning on her pale face, "When the

days were busy and the nights were filled with crooks and youma - I

remember that like it was yesterday..."

"We made the perfect team!"

"We were the dynamite ditzes!"

At the realization of her misquote, she breaks out in laughter. I

remember when she used to get those wrong all the time... Guess some habits

die hard. "You know," I mention, "It's dynamic duo."

"Baka," she says, pulling on my whiskers, "Of course I know!"

The uneasiness rises from our shoulders, a sort of mutual friendliness

remerging. Perhaps this is part of her mood swings, but it is, nonetheless,

a welcome change of pace. She reminds me of the person I want to see, of

the person I came here to find. She has opened up to me once again, and now

is time to take advantage of that.

I want her back. Everyone does.

If it takes my support to secure her return, then she's got it.

Afterall, what else are friends for?

"So... want to talk about it?"

**********

"So... want to talk about it?"

"Promise you won't take it too hard?" I ask, more for my sake than his.

He ogles me suspiciously but relents. Good, I need someone to talk

to... anybody. But Artemis? I don't know how smart that choice is, but who

else am I going find to have a heart-to-heart talk with? Who else is

willing to help me with my problems?

Only choice in a cramped situation. I need all this out of me, out of

me now!

The furball said he cared for me more than his life: let's hope he

delivers.

I think about it, about my four and a half years of life, about all the

change that's been happening. I left because of guilt, I hated because of

anger, I loved because of innocence, and I ran because of pain. Everywhere

I go, pain follows... either pain or cavalier stupidity which eventually

leads to pain. I have no place, no home.

I have nothing, but yet, I want to talk about everything.

So hard to put into words but I'll give it a try.

"Artemis, do you know what it feels like to kill?"

A shudder erupts from his body. "No, and I'm glad!"

Really? Maybe I should enlighten him.

"You feel so powerful when you have another person's life utterly in

your hands. As he turns and gazes into your eyes for one last time, there's

a sense of God that flows through you, a sense of-"

"I get the picture," he rudely interrupts, "You-"

"Hey! Just let me finish, ok?!"

That shut him up real nice. Alright, where was I?

Ahhh, now I remember. "You get a sense of superiority and omnipotence.

And then... then it all goes away when the life disappears. You don't feel

godly anymore, you feel dirty and wrong. You finally realize that the price

for that ultimate, God-like emotion is eternal guilt and damnation. Then,

you have two choices: seek the thrill again or be thrown into despair."

A sickened expression accompanies my words. Artemis nearly doubles over

with disgust. "What... in... hell... DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH YOU?!"

"Don't you see?" My God, he is blind and stupid! "That tension between

ecstasy and damnation is my life! It's the lives of those around me!"

A long pause, then, "How?"

I throw up my hands in exasperation, thereby launching the white

furball off my shoulder. I wait for him to gather his bearings before going

on.

He needs to hear this. ALL of this.

Wisely, I close my eyes so his unwavering gaze won't disturb my

thoughts. "Back... back in Tokyo..." Damn! Drudging up more unwanted

memories! "There was war; somehow, even though I was scared and sick, I

never felt more at home than on a corpse ridden battlefield. I had a sense

of... of..." What was it? Self-worth? "... of accomplishment. I didn't like

it, but I belonged. I didn't like where I belonged-"

"So you left?"

No... though now I wish it was. Less problems that way. "No. I stayed,

but it was after the Purging that I decided to go. I felt so dirty after

that..."

Artemis puts his paws over his head and groans, apparently something in

him stirring to life. "I've been down this road before," he laments, "and

every time it's the same..."

I twitch a little, my mind blaring at me to close off my ears so I

won't hear his false words. I want to comply, but curiosity allows me to

remain open. After a moment's hesitation, "Go on..."

"You did what you had to do."

"Says who?!"

"Says me!" We glare at each other, unsaid words of hostility brewing

like they were housed in a witch's cauldron. "You never knew the

consequences of your actions! Yes, I admit it was a mistake, but under the

circumstances, what else could you do?!"

"We had other choices!"

"Like what? Huh, Minako, tell me: like what? People were battering down

the doors, our own troops were turning traitor, and we had a city to

defend! I don't know if you remember, but a little issue called

self-preservation was a big deal at the time!"

Fool! "We don't deserve to live - let alone rule - if we're no better

than our enemies! We killed everyone! Till years on end, walking corpses

will litter the streets of Crystal Tokyo because of what we did in our

selfish grab for power!"

"No, we're better than our enemies..."

And just how, praytell?

Anticipating my question, he launches into the response. "Minako, we

can learn from our mistakes. When there is a will, there is a way. The will

to do good is there-"

Like hell it is!

"- and we will find a way."

"And whose words were those, Artemis? It definitely didn't come from

the power hungry mongrels I used to know!"

"Don't hate them for what they did. You were part of it, you of all

people should understand the reasoning behind the actions! Have faith in

your friends - they will finish what they started and make everything

right..."

I don't believe him. I don't believe his story. I don't believe the

Senshi have the desire to correct their error. I don't believe he knows how

it feels to have agonizing screams of dead men haunting your dreams.

I don't believe that they are my friends... not anymore.

"Get out," I mutter under my breath.

"What?!"

I said, "Get out!"

The cat doesn't know anything! If he did, he would feel my pain and at

the very least try to rectify the wrongs! He would see the tension of death

in my life, how I separate myself from those bloodied whores with my pain.

They kill and they don't know; they continue like nothing happened. I

wouldn't mind so much if they proceeded down their road of damnation, but

to kidnap me along with them?

I am this way because of them.

No friend would treat another friend this way. No friend would drag

another friend down their path of darkness.

I won't hear anymore! I can't stand it!!!

"You're in denial, Minako."

"I am not!"

A sudden, absolutely confident edge graces his voice. "You ARE in

denial! This isn't about pain or guilt: this is about your selfish desire

to push all the blame away!"

"Who can blame me?! I'm another victim!"

Lies! All of him just lies!

"You can't live with the knowledge of your deeds - I'll give you that -

but what makes it even worse is you can't accept that people can change,

people can go back and correct mistakes! You don't want to hear about the

present: you want the past because it's comfortable hating your friends!

Blaming is so much easier than forgiving!"

"And I blame for a good reason!"

"NO! You blame because you are a damned coward! You of all people

should know that blaming does nothing! If your life is so bad because of

them, why don't you tell them yourself?!"

.............

"No response, eh?" He walks up to my slumped figure and pierces through

me with his steely eyes. I shiver at the sensation. "You don't have the

courage to tell them. You're afraid they'll change and then you'll have to

love them again. You're afraid of having them for your friends, for your

family! Just stop being stupid; wake up and smell the roses! The world is

here to help you, but you're pushing us away."

I... I... "I don't want your help."

"But your every action screams for help! You may not want it, but you

sure need it." Hopping a tad closer, Artemis puts a paw on my leg in an

attempt to comfort me. "Come back and we'll make it right. Change comes

from one foolish heart, and believe me, they'll listen to your foolish

heart."

"They... they'll listen?"

"Hai," he nods, "They still love you, love you like a sister. Like I

said, what they think of you will never change unless you change it for

them..."

Friends... Family... They've been that to me for so long, but can I go

back? Should I risk the pain of going back for the comfort it might bring?

Should I stay where I am? Should I even believe Artemis?

It sounds so tempting and alluring and somehow - some twisted way - 

right. I feel like I owe them that much: a chance at redemption in my eyes.

But like always, there are complications - many complications. I still hate

them, hate them so very much for the hurt they caused me, but like Artemis

said, am I the one at fault or are they?

I've thought one way so long, but now, I don't know if I was right.

Before today, everything was clear: I was right, they were wrong. Why do I

have a change of heart? Really, I don't know. How come I can I hate them so

one minute then the next question myself? The furball has something to do

with it; I guess it's the impact of having somebody from the past catch up

to you. He... he... doesn't seem to have changed very much, and in truth,

that scares me.

It scares me because it says I might have been wrong. It scares me

because it says I might have been the one who changed.

Is there another layer all of this? Is there a reason for me to go

back?

Do I want to?

Wherever I go, my world turns upside down. Are they the answer? Am I

suppose to confront what I've been eluding? Many people have found closure

and peace by facing their worst nightmare...

... but then, how many more have been crushed under the nightmare's

weight?

Am I going to return, finding not a thing touched, no actions taken?

A part of me screams for validation, but another part screams for

companionship. I've had years alone to think, but I have no answers. I've

had years to be alone, and when I was truly alone, I hated it. I need

something to hold on to...

And now I wonder if I foolishly threw it away along my trip of life.

"Give them a chance," he begs, "At least for me?"

"Maybe," I say, "Maybe..."

***********

The thunder of waves crashing against the ocean sound are drowned by

modern life. Noise pollution disrupts most thoughts, droning on and on like

the Volga Boat Song, making the inhabitants toil to a set beat.

She doesn't seem to care though; if anything, she welcomes the noise. I

see it in the way she reaches out to the waves, grinning from ear to ear.

Part of me wonders why, but I don't care anymore; the results are what

count. Maybe for once, she feels somewhat relieved; afterall, I gave her a

chance at redemption.

Well, not really a chance, more like a push.

But isn't that what friends are for?

"Minako," I ask gazing at her in all seriousness, "Did you really mean

what you said back there?"

Sighing, she absent-mindedly pets me on the head, trying to avoid the

question. In all honesty, I really don't want to know, but it bothers me,

enough to rattle my cage. Guess this is another one of those "curiosity

killed the cat" scenarios except the cat hasn't been killed yet... and I

much rather it remain that way.

"Maybe," she replies, "It's so clear and at the same time so

confusing... I don't know what to say to you and them."

"That part about being a spineless, cowardly, dense whore-"

"Yeah? What about it?"

I cutely nudge her in the stomach with my head. "It's not true."

A sad smile comes across her face. "Thanks furball."

We sit around the docks for a while, passing the time by, not thinking

of anything in particular. As the sun moves off into the horizon, it covers

the entire Hong Kong island in red. A cool breeze blows by, accompanying

the dawning night in perfect harmony.

Shivering from the slight cold, I huddle closer to Minako for the body

heat.

"Are you ready?"

She looks at me with the weirdest expression. "Ready for what?"

"To go back to Tokyo with me. What? You think I'm going to hitch a ride

in some cramped package again?"

Silence.

Setting me down, she turns her back and says, "I'm not going back."

"Yes you are!"

"No I'm not," she gently rebuts. "I'll go back when I'm ready..."

And, ahem, "When exactly is ready?"

"When I'm at peace with myself... real peace, not momentary bravery."

But that still begs the question, "And when will that be?"

"When I know what to tell them and what to tell myself."

So all my efforts are for naught? I've put my heart and soul on the

line only to come up with a pathetic "Maybe"?! What else does she want?!

What else can't she see?!

"Stop being such a moron!" I shout at the top of my lungs, "You won't

accomplish anything by running! Haven't you learned that lesson after

living a life of nothingness for almost five years?! Take a hint: you're

wasting away and I'm trying to help you stop doing that!"

She steps away from me and nods sadly. She knows I'm right and she's

wrong, she just has to. I won't let her throw her life away, not again. One

of these days, no one is going to be there for her and she's going to kill

herself in every way possible: that's just how she is.

Minako, for better or for worse, is a slave to her heart.

***********

He's right. I have nothing else to say to him that'll seem reasonable.

The only reason why I'm not going back is because of a gut feeling, an

unexplainable repulsion. I need to know myself, I need to know the

unknowable before I can have peace.

I'm one of those stupid people. I'm one of those idiots who rather be

informed than happy. What's the use of happiness if it is fake? But then

again, what's the use of knowledge if it comes at the cost of happiness?

We all die; whether we die knowing or not shouldn't matter...

But for me, it does.

I... I... I guess it's, "Goodbye Artemis."

"Minako," he growls menacingly, "Don't you dare run away from me."

Sorry furball... I really, truly, and always will be, "Sorry." You're

the only person to ever ask if I was alright. You're the only person to

ever care.

"I'm sorry for all those things I said back there. Please," I beg,

tears free-flowing from my eyes, "Don't make this harder than it already

is."

I stuff my hands into my jacket pocket, turn away, and walk. He stays

where he is.

"Fine!" he screams, "FINE! Just remember, Minako, don't blame them!

Don't blame me! They did nothing wrong: you're the one who painted it that

way! If you're going to hate them, break away! Take a thousand years of

existence, spit on it, and shove it back in their faces! Don't stir up the

ranks! If you're going to be a damned fool, get a clean break so when you

die, your blood won't be on their hands!"

I continue farther and farther away. His voice grows dimmer, but every

word still hurts. Every word burns and maims like acid that just won't go

away.

At least I know I have something to live for; I know that because I can

still be hurt. The wild fire of these past years hasn't destroyed

everything.

"Do you hear me?! Go away! Get out of our lives! If you think the world

sucks this much, go die! And when you do breath your last breath, know that

you did it to yourself, not me!!! No... not me..."

So far away now; I can barely hear. Think he's stopped yelling by

now... think he's had enough... The only thing I can make out at this

distance is a bunch of sobs - tear-jerking, heart-wrenching sobs. I want to

go back. I want to make him know how I feel. I want to make him

understand...

But then, this wouldn't be a clean break.

Something rattles around in my jacket pocket - didn't even realize it

was there till now. I take it out and see, see it's a little orange

bottle with two white pills inside. What I wouldn't give for that sensation

right now. What I wouldn't give to forget all this pain in one swallow.

What I wouldn't give to drown out Artemis' sorrow.

What I wouldn't give indeed...

With a swift throw, I launch the rattling snake into the sea, down into

the thundering waves below. I know what I wouldn't give for that feeling:

My heart.

It's time to wake from my quiet slumber.

**************

Author's Notes

**************

Friends will be friends. No matter what we say to each other, deep down

inside, we always will care. Sometimes, it takes a life threatening

situation to see how many friends a person has. However, after seeing what

I've seen, I'd never want to have all my friends crying in a room talking

about the "good old days." I'd rather have them care and not say a word

about it. Being hung between life and death is never fun... even if your

friends are with you.

12/00

-Don.


	6. Clean - Chapter 6

********

Foreword

********

This chapter takes you back to the beginning, if only for a glimpse.

It takes place about six months to a year after the last chapter, just to 

give you a timeframe.

Now, if only this story hasn't been forgotten because of my long

absence...

Disclaimer: Everything associated with Sailor Moon is in no way, shape, or

form owned by me. I don't intend to make any money off of this; that's up

to the larger than life corporations out there. All that jazz about Sailor

Moon in tons of disclaimers out there apply.

email: doniswong@hotmail.com

Rating: R (cussing)

"Clean"

Chapter 6

A fanfic

by

Don

I stood outside the Hikawa Shrine, my back against a tree. As the cool

autumn breeze whipped by, I hugged my light windbreaker closer to my body.

I felt cold, but it was only skin deep; warmth spread through me like wild

fire, warmth of house and home.

But most importantly, warmth of friends.

Absentmindedly, I looked at the steps leading up to the shrine - yet

again, they were littered with fiery brown leaves. Seemed like that all

year round. I still remembered days when I would come running down the

street, late for another meeting (though somehow, never quite as late as

Usagi) and see Rei diligently sweeping the leaves, simultaneously engaged

in some conversation with Makoto or Ami. No matter how long or hard the

girl worked, the leaves never seemed to leave. Through winter and summer,

drought and typhoon, the leaves dropped, almost as if reminding her of her

duties.

If I was her, I'd go nuts in a heartbeat.

My watch read 3:15 pm. I had been standing here for twenty minutes

doing nothing but listening, watching, remembering. All the while, I had a

goofy grin on my face - not quite a smile, but the corners of lips were

turned slightly upward as if happy but too afraid to giggle.

So many memories. So many wonderful memories.

Then, down the street, her figure appeared. She had a bag of groceries

in hand and a gloomy look on face. A part of me was scared - Rei was never

gloomy (steaming mad or dangerously violent, yes, seen that many times, but

never gloomy) - and another part of me said, "What are you waiting for?! Go

help her!"

And it wasn't talking about helping her with the groceries either.

So, I hauled myself up and stretched a little bit before jogging to

meet her.

I could smell her fragrance from far away and feel her downcast eyes

burrowing into the sidewalk. Her shoulders were tense, defeated and

downtrodden. I couldn't see her face very well - her raven black hair

draped over many of her features - but I knew she was pale, and, if at all

possible, a bit thinner and weaker.

I stopped a few steps in front of her, waiting for her to notice me.

She didn't until she almost plowed me over.

As she lifted her pretty little head up, I beamed happily and greeted,

"Hey Rei."

It was the wrong salutation.

She tried desperately to smile, to draw from those deep reserves and

muster some kind of reply; she failed miserably. Instead, she forced out a

crooked sob-like cough, her mouth slightly open and words slightly forming,

both forced back at the last possible second.

She seemed to choke on whatever she was about to say.

I sensed it plain enough, almost painfully so in fact. Swooping down to

grab the groceries, I switched gears and adopted a more solemn approach.

"Came as soon as I heard," I said with a heavy heart, "How are you holding

up?"

"Minako..."

I put my finger on her lips and made a quieting hiss. "It's alright.

Usagi told me about it a few days ago. Hopped on the first flight back to

Japan."

Her eyes thundered with gratitude and for shortest of moments, a smile

breezed by. Then, as if remembering Grandpa's state, she grew somber again.

"He died so suddenly," she whispered as we walked, "The doctors said it

was a major stroke in his brain. I... I... wasn't even there. Maybe if I

was a little more attentive-"

From what Usagi said, Rei had been down in the dumps. A few weeks ago,

Grandpa had been off-handedly complaining about dizziness and pain. It was

the what I dub "old people guilt trip." Goes something like: "Look at you

young ones, always running around. My back hurts and my eyes don't see

straight anymore! You'll be sorry when you get to be my age!"

Most of the time, the comments meant little in the literal sense; they

were merely conversation starters. But, to an over-zealous, big-hearted old

man who was suffering but didn't want his haggard granddaughter to know too

much, those words became his only way to express the pain. No one suspected

anything until that fateful night, Grandpa Hino fell asleep and never woke

up.

Only then did the signs become obvious. Rei, with her abilities, was

particularly hard on herself about the entire thing. A little voice in her

kept telling her, "If only you listened..."

-----------------

*****************

-----------------

"... if only you listened..."

I rolled the words over my tongue, tasting the spite and bitterness.

Artemis sat across from me, his furry body draped over the back of a red

velvet chair. His eyes were puffy from crying and he was visibly ill -

maybe not physically, but certainly emotionally. I swallowed the lump in my

throat, the lump which consisted of those four words, and closed my eyes to

the world.

After a long time, I finally said, "So I'm guessing you saw her?"

A slow, somewhat curt nod was his reply.

Could've guessed it: after an entire month's disappearance, Artemis

came back, haggard and bedraggled. He wouldn't talk to anyone, only sit in

his room and cry; even Luna couldn't reach him. He became mechanical,

eating to survive and nothing more. Then, all of a sudden, today, I found

him in my room, staring at me from under those bloodshot eyes. He began

talking, hitting all those sensitive spots with renewed vigor, places we

have been and jointly decided to never be at ever again.

I assumed it was the doing of Minako. No one could affect him so. No

one. Of course, I had my suspicions, but I... I was always too afraid to

ask. Afraid because I couldn't take her rejection. Afraid because I

couldn't take the truth. These past few years, the very mention of her

incited tears and trepidation in each one of us - Minako's name sent us off

into an emotionally charged "discussion."

"Did she seem well?" I whispered, lightly brushing upon the subject.

Retreating back into his shell, Artemis shook his head while still

glaring at me. His face was scrunched up, trying to form a feral hiss but

not quite having the strength to.

"Please," I softly begged, "Talk to me. We'v- I've been worried out of

my mind about you! You disappear into thin air then reappear just as

quietly. Come on. Talk to me. At least... at least tell me what she

thinks... tell me if she hates me..."

He croaked from the deepest pit of his stomach, "With every fiber of

her being..."

*****************

The moon cowered behind the dark branches, asleep under its blanket of

clouds. We sat in complete silence, the quietus of the night interrupted by

an occasional, watery slurp. The steps were ice cold and I felt it even

through my thick jeans. Feigning annoyance, I glanced at my companion and

grimaced.

Rei peered at me quizzically and asked, "What?"

"These," I said, pointing to our Slurpees, "It was a terrible idea: ice

cold drinks on ice cold steps on an ice cold winter night? What were you

thinking?!"

"I didn't hear you protest when we were at the store."

"Well, I am now."

With that, we continued drinking, each silently engaged in our own

little thoughts. At least, I thought Rei was thinking - I was busy moaning

over the pseudo-ice-cream headache I was experiencing. Quite consciously, I

hugged my jacket closer to my body and set down my fountain drink.

"How can you stand this?" I asked, my breath visibly freezing as it

left my mouth.

She merely shrugged and stared straight ahead into the street, seeming

to be pondering some deep mystery. She looked so... so... ponderous, but my

gut told me she was thinking about nothing. That begged the question: why

did she ask me over in the dead of the night? Didn't she know I had a

flight tomorrow?

Sheesh, some people. Can't deny 'em. Can't kill 'em.

As I reached for my Slurpee (my poor little brain finally able to

withstand another shot of chilliness), Rei reached out and intercepted my

mitten clad hand. The first thing I noticed was her drop dead serious gaze

burrowing into my soul; the second was the fiery temperature of her palm.

I giggled at the latter observation. "Wow. Warm hands coming from the

ice queen - how ironic."

"Minako," she breathed heavily, "I have something to tell you."

Whoa. Wait. Time out. Something important was going to go down and she

was going to lay it on thick. I recognized that look now. It was the

pre-"We're gonna face certain doom and I got to tell you something" look.

What got me was the fact that the world wasn't coming to an end.

Or was it?

Well, if it was, then I didn't know about it which made this incident

all the more mind-boggling. Therefore, I put my money on the world not

coming to an end, just Rei having a few words of wisdom to give to me.

Either words of wisdom or tons of problems.

Hey, maybe she was... was... "Are you seeing somebody?!" I nearly

squealed.

The comment knocked Rei of kilter - her eyes grew impossibly big and

her mouth twisted into one of those shapes you didn't see every day. If I

wasn't so high from the possibility of Rei seeing somebody, I would've been

shocked at her expression. Actually, I was quite shocked at her expression.

I just didn't show it.

"N... no... NO!" she stammered, finally regaining her composure. She

glared at me with one of looks reserved for Usagi - I merely shrugged it

off. "Baka Mina! Are you always this boy crazy?!"

I mockingly wiggled my finger in face. "Sorry Rei, you're not changing

subject now! Remember: fool me once, shame on me, but loose lips sink

ships."

We both grimaced at the words that came barreling out of my mouth.

"Minako, you-"

"Got it wrong, I know, I know."

Silence descended upon us again: we resumed sipping our Slurpees from

the over-sized, neon straws. However, it was a little different now -

tension was building. Uneasy, overwhelming, uncomfortable tension. I felt

fidgety, so I squirmed under my thick clothing. I felt cold, so I bunched

up into a ball. The stone against my bottom was freezing, so I wiggled

around, desperately trying to warm my perch with the friction produced.

I looked like a squeamish, butt wiggling ball of clothing. Apparently, 

my motions grated on Rei's nerves, enough so that I began to see a vein bulge

out of her forehead. Hesitantly, I poked at it, trying to see if it would

pop.

Angrily, she slapped my hand away.

I was about to snap at her, but then I remembered why I agreed to even

be here at this hour. She needed somebody to be with. She needed some

support. This was, after all, the day after Grandpa's funeral. The man she

had known for nearly her entire life was no more, and damn it, I knew it

hurt.

It had to.

That tension never left us. We sat, slurped, sighed. I was beginning to

think one of us would crack under the pressure, but we didn't.

Rei stood up, stretched, bid me goodnight, and calmly walked back into

her home. I was alone for the next few hours, a feeling of dread running

through me. It was that nagging sensation, that thing from the depths of

your soul that keeps chanting "You should've done something!" when you

should've done something.

For once, being a bumbling hormone-driven friend had lead me astray.

Maybe I should've heard Rei out and tried to help her. Maybe I should've

held back my tongue. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Should've, should've, should've.

None of it changed the one fact I knew: something was wrong and I didn't

help it.

When my Slurpee bottomed out with that distinct hollow sound, I dusted

myself off, cast a final look at the eerily dark shrine, and walked down

the street, the setting moon behind my back. I didn't have the courage to

face what was in there.

Monsters? Yes. Daimons? Yes. Emotions? Well, I could only deal with

one: love. Despair and depression weren't my forte. That talent belonged to

Mamoru.

But even as I turned the key to my house, checked my luggage which was

lounging lazily in the living room, patted my cat who was passed out on the

heater (undoubtedly having gorged himself with high quality tuna - he

didn't get much it back in England), and checked my plane ticket back to

London International, that feeling hounded me.

Friends for life, wasn't it? Sisters for all eternity, correct? Senshi,

comrades in arms, right?

How come I was feeling like a deserter?

-----------------

*****************

-----------------

I didn't believe him. So, I did what any rational person would do.

I threw him out of my room.

No, not in the friendly manner but in the haul-you-up-by-the-collar,

brute force kind of way. I refused to buy into what Minako was saying, what

he said Minako was saying. It wasn't true. It wasn't her. She had never let

us down - through thick and thin, through good and bad, she never left our

side. Disagreements were plenty, arguments were too numerous to count, but

brutal hatred never entered the picture.

Never anything that couldn't be worked out.

I mean, we're the real thing, the real saviors of the world. We're

genuine super-heroines. Nothing bad ever happens: we'll persevere and

overcome. More than that, we're a family, and family just didn't walk away

from each other.

Oh, was the Purging wrong? Yes, it was. There, I've said it. It was

wrong and downright crummy, but it was also our last resort. OUR last

resort. Not mine. Not Minako's. Not Usagi's. Our's. And guess what?

It's worked out for the best.

She couldn't hate me; she just couldn't. Deep down inside, I knew she

didn't. After all, she was never one to deal with anything outside the

happy and positive. I mean, didn't she see this world, this creation, as

something good? Didn't we get rid of those emotions she couldn't bear?

Didn't she appreciate my effort?

*****************

10:30 am. My flight was boarding and everyone was still there. After

watching me leave, they'd see Ami and Hotaru off, then Haruka, then

Setsuna, and finally Mamoru would drive everyone home. I hoped they'd stop

by Rei's first and give her some company: maybe they could give her the

comfort I couldn't.

"We'll miss you Mina-chan!!!" screamed Usagi at the top of her lungs.

I accepted her more-than-suffocating embrace and returned it. I guess

over the years, our hugs had become some kind of friendly competition to

see who could choke who to death first. Whenever we'd hug, minna would roll

their eyes and try to shield their faces from the ensuing onlookers staring

at us.

Haruka was still trying to come up with an acidic name for our childish

outbursts. I think she finally settled on calling us "special" and leaving

it at that. Fortunately, whenever she was about to attach something more

scathing onto the quip, Michiru would clobbered her in the arm, forcing her

to hold her tongue.

As the living daylights were quickly escaping from my vision, I cast

glance at the entire group and sighed. I wondered when we'd have another

chance to be together like this. Sailor Senshi we were, but real life kept

us apart; hey, I mean, even superheroines had to eat, drink, and buy

extraordinarily expensive CDs, right?

Well, not so much the CDs if I ever managed to get to figure out that

MP3 to CD thing-

Suddenly, dark blots threatened to rob me of my consciousness. I then

remembered the aforementioned sigh - much precious air was lost.

"Usssssaaaaggggiii," I gasped, "AIR!!!"

She broke off, a sheepish but triumphant grin on her face. "Gomen," she

blushed.

Everyone else seemed to crack up as I crumbled to the floor

convulsing.Honestly, did they have no respect for the dead?

Setsuna took a hint and helped me to my feet, her strong frame

supporting my jello-like body. "Take care," she smiled in that motherly

way, "And enjoy college. It's one a once in a lifetime opportunity."

What was that in her voice? A hint of regret? Some hidden foreboding?

Perhaps bits of-

"Hush up and get on the plane!" hissed a very irate, crushed, and

asphyxiated Artemis - he was neatly folded away in my carry-on handbag.

I quickly said my goodbyes and promised to stay extra long when summer

vacation rolled around. There were lots of parting tears and loads of

waving cheers, but one person was noticeably withdrawn from the

festivities: Rei.

I felt bad, real bad. Somehow, I knew I was responsible for her pain. I

wanted to repay her, to set things straight... if only a little. I walked

over to her, my arms outstretched for a hug.

But, I never got the chance to express myself.

-----------------

*****************

-----------------

At precisely 10:53 am on the cold December 13th morning of the year

2001, the world exploded.

Well, at least our world did.

Apparently, Setsuna's predictions were a little off: the enemy had come

early. The result? Massive chaos and genocidal massacres. Us, the fabled

Sailor Senshi, were trapped in a rapidly collapsing airport filled with

confused victims. Blood of innocent people surged up and down the floor

like flooding oceans, and me?

I was standing apart from everyone else, drowned in my own lake of

sorrow.

I remember feeling fear and death. If it wasn't for Minako, I would've

succumb to the latter sensation. She dived at me, knocking me off my feet,

knocking me back into the world, knocking me out of harm's way.

The roof fell around us, and somehow, we survived.

Everyone else wasn't as lucky but I didn't have time to care: Minako

was hurt.

She gazed up me with pained eyes and searched herself for wounds. Blood

was splattered all over her leg, the result of an enormous gash that ran

down the side of her thigh. We were transfixed by the graveness of the

situation.

Then she softly whispered, "Are you ok?"

Tears hit me. So compassionate and self-sacrificing... I wondered

exactly how much she and Usagi were alike. Even now as she lay bleeding -

perhaps to death - she thought of other people, of their safety.

I was fortunate to have friends like those. She made me want to be like

her; she made me want to pay her back even if I was to destroy the world.

At that very moment, I grew up. I saw my selfish ways, my nagging demeanor,

my unbearable faults. With those three words she breathed from her mouth,

Minako made me hate myself.

And I am eternally grateful.

So I ask: how could she hate me? The Purging was a selfless act, an act

of kindness and redemption. It was my thank you, my way of taking away all

her pain like she did mine. I waited centuries to pay her back.

Wasn't she grateful?

We saved each other's lives countless times, but a person only grew up

once. She not only saved my life, she helped me become me.

I was only helping her become herself.

-----------------

*****************

-----------------

I sit down on a rock while listening to the crashing waves. Off in the

distance, a shimmer in the skyline breaks through, glistening like an

unpolished diamond. The sand under my feet shifts with the billowing winds,

shifts so hard that I put on sunglasses to shield my eyes. Little specks of

water pelt my face and cool my skin from the setting sun.

It's so peaceful here.

Like a child, I pick up a rock and hurl it into the sea, letting it

glide through the air before being sucked into the depths below. The action

brings back memories of... of... fun times, of friends and family. And God

knows I miss those things.

Even as I shy away from the glistening pillar known as the Crystal

Palace, I can't help but feel at home. I scoop up the sand in my hand and

shake my head, watching as each grain blows away, taking my home with them.

Soon, my hand became lifeless, lifeless like this barren, war torn shore

which once was part of the bustling city, Ako, Japan.

So many lives, so much hope, all decimated by our war.

And the spoils we reaped were worse than the blood we shed.

Sad. Really sad. Sadder still is my draw to the souls inside that

palace. I feel obligated to close this final distance between us and return

as their leader. I am so close to that beckoning call - the call that draws

Sailor Venus but repulses Aino Minako. I'm helpless, a victim of dreaded

destiny. No matter how much I fight, a part of me will always want to

return. A part of me will always hope. A part of me will always love. A

part of me will always have faith. A part of me will always draw me closer

to them.

That part of me is exclusive of me, Minako. The warrior pushes me

forward but the frail human holds me back.

Deep down, I know the wrong we have done. Deep down, I want to help

them correct that wrong.

But I'm tired. Too tired to help anymore.

While the spirit of Venus pulses as strong as ever, I am broken. I am

tired of fighting and never seeing a reward. I am tired of sacrificing. I

cannot - will not - stand my sorrow anymore. I will not follow my destiny.

It is one thing to be reborn after a thousand years and fight for a dream;

it is another to fight a thousand years for that same dream.

The future be damned to-

Someone behind me coughs.

With a cat's grace, I spin around, my senses full alert. Though the

battle which raged in this place is long over, the fighting still lives on

in myself. In the blink of an eye, I am ready to continue the war, a

dreaded side effect of Sailor Venus.

"Um... hi?"

I immediately let my guard down as I see this pale woman standing

behind me, her body shielded from the elements by a large, patchwork cloak.

"Sorry," I laugh uneasily, "Natural reaction."

The woman only smiles. "I'm sure."

I resume my watch of the ocean, occasionally glancing off to the left, off

to the towering palace. Taking another rock in hand, I throw it with all my

might almost as if one stone held the power to destroy that world. I sigh

heavily when stone falls short, tumbling into the frothy waves.

"Nice throw," says the woman as she sits down in the sand.

"It's all in the wrist."

Another heave, and yet again, it falls short.

"Why are you throwing in the direction of the Crystal Palace?"

As I haunch over to pick up another rock, I cast a glare in her

direction, and still, despite my hostility, her innocent gaze - complete

with wide inquiring eyes - never falter.

"Because I'm sad," I finally reply as I recline back into a sitting

position.

I feel her eyes on me. She waits to hear more - she thinks I haven't

completed what I want to say. She expects me to tell her why I am "sad."

She sits there, looking at me, only inquiring, never judging, never

probing. She patiently waits for me to continue, but I fight the urge to

say anymore...

... until I crack.

Shaking my head and chuckling darkly, I finish my statement. "The

Crystal Palace brings back bad memories."

"Memories of what?"

I toss another rock at the crystallized formation: this time, I get a

running start.

As I throw, I grunt, "Memories of death."

Again the projectile sails into the water.

When I return to my perch, the woman nods her head and casts her eyes

away from me. Staring intently into the sand, she whispers, "So you lost

someone in the war too?"

"I lost a whole city of people," I automatically answer.

"Sometimes, it's hard to hold onto..." she stifles her tears, "... hold

onto what you believe. I lost a friend on the last day of that war,

probably my best friend. We were like sisters. Her last words wer-"

My brain suddenly registers something. "What did you say?"

The woman looks at me strangely, "My friend and I were like sisters?"

"No, before that."

"Sometimes it's hard to hold onto what you believe?"

"Yeah," I nod, "Why did you say that?"

The statement seems so out of place, so straightforward and calculated

unlike the previous bit of conversation.

"Because that's how my friend died."

Oh. "And she died because she didn't believe anymore?"

"She didn't believe in the people around her." The woman edges closer

to me, her gaze burrowing deep into my soul, "She lost her hope. She lost

her will to fight. She lost her faith in us, her friends. When the enemy

came, she was swallowed whole while everyone else wondered where she was.

We needed her, but because she wasn't willing to listen, she died and we

fell apart."

The woman slowly looks away and sighs. "I worry about her all the

time."

"You talk about her like she's still alive."

"She is, if only in my heart."

That last line touch me in ways no one could imagine. For a second, I

thought Usagi was speaking to me. Those words were spoken with so much

intensity, love, and sincerity that even I had to shed a tear.

I sniff, holding back the other tears threatening to barrel forth at my

first signs of weakness. Like many times before, my sorrow only comes out

as a cough.

"What about you?" the woman says, "You seem to be good at holding back

your pain. Who did you lose?"

"Everything. My home, my friends, my family, and most importantly,

myself. I was betrayed-"

"By who?" she suddenly cuts in.

"By people whom I trusted and loved."

And she weeps. She weeps for me - at least, that's what I guess. Still,

I ask for clarification.

"Don't tell me those tears are for me," I lightheartedly mutter.

The woman shakes her head and curls into a defensive ball. Geez, did I

hit that sensitive of a nerve? "Was it something I said?" I ask, afraid

that I caused such grief (but I don't see how I could've).

Again the woman shakes her head.

I angrily snarl in disgust.

Fine, lady. Be that way.

I'm through with crying. I'm through with feeling sorry for myself. I'm

through with feeling hopeful. I'm through with faith.

I need to know and to experience.

Casting a final, doubtful look in the direction of the Crystal Palace,

I stand up and start walking away from my life and into my destiny. I guess

some things mortals - not even Sailor Senshi - were ever meant to know,

ever meant to discern.

It's time to acknowledge the past and return to the future. The way I

figure it, I could spend an eternity finding "the answers" to my questions;

I could spend another eternity trying to comfort myself. But you know what

they say: answers bring more questions and comfort brings more pain.

I could look within myself and ask, "Was the Purging wrong? Are people

better off now or then? Are my friends my betrayers or my saviors?" I could

span the world looking to escape, to play the role of a lover, killer,

angel, or demon.

In the end, if I don't return to the scene of the crime, will I ever

know my answers? Will I ever know my comforts?

I know one thing though: I can never soundly rest again knowing my

wrongs.

But then, I have long since passed that point, ever since I took my

first life. The stain of murder will always be on me, Purging or no; now,

it's not a matter of soundly resting but of resting.

Do I go back the ones who broke me and hope they dull the pain? Oh, I

know they can dull the pain, but can they put me back together? Will they

have already fixed their world and cleaned their bloody names?

I need to go back, if only to make sure that I can, once for all, hate

them for the mongrels they are. Then, I can truly regret ever saving any of

them... especially Rei.

Especially her.

I need to know if I doomed the world by sacrificing myself for the

Sailor Senshi.

I need to know: can the wounds we dealt heal? Can they ever go away?

The answers are in front of me and now is the time to go back, for

better or for worse.

Besides, I need more reasons to continue hating myself.

-----------------

*****************

-----------------

As Minako walked off into the setting sun, the crying woman wiped her

tears away and let the salty air singe the open gash in her heart. In the

shimmering ocean light, she seemed to collapse on herself and implode in a

brilliant flash of light. The woman was promptly replaced by a teary-eyed

Neo-Queen Serenity.

"I'm sorry, Minako," she sadly whispered after the disappearing blonde,

"I never knew you hurt so much."

The queen never missed much around her domain. For better or for worse,

she knew everything that went on. Everything, but Minako's innermost

thoughts were exclusive of everything. Serenity sobbed quietly, futilely;

for all her fabled strength and compassion, she failed her friend, her

guardian.

And for the first time in a thousand years, the queen felt the crushing

agony of death and defeat. Time and time again, she bested her enemies.

Whichever direction they came, from wherever they hailed, she repelled

their efforts. Now, finally, after a thousand year winning-streak, an enemy

had reached out and claimed one of her own in both mind and soul.

That enemy was none other than herself.

And once again, a weight was placed onto Serenity's shoulders, but this

time, the weight was much heavier than the fate of the world.

Such was the burden of a friend's pain.

Sometimes it's hard to hold onto what you believe - no truer words were

ever spoken.Usagi believed in Minako, held onto her, but Minako didn't

want her anymore.

The queen sensed as much.

And in a way, Usagi felt like a parent.Minako had grown up, so had

her heart and mind.She no longer implicitely trusted, but violently

questioned.She no longer believed that the Senshi's means justified the

ends.She no longer could stand by and watch others suffer while she was

overcame with joy.

Minako had joined the rest of the world.

Like a parent, Usagi could only do one thing: let go and hope.

**************

Author's Notes

**************

It's almost over - two, maybe three more chapters and an epilogue. I thank

you fans of this series. I thank you people who gave me inspiration. I

thank you all in general. I hope my writings live up to your standards.

Hopefully, my illness hasn't knocked the edge off of my writing. Till next

time...

1/01

-Don.


	7. Clean - Chapter 7

********   
Foreword   
********

Finally, after a year and half, this series has come full circle   
bearing with it all the luggage from past tales. Because it's been a while   
since I've put it out, I encourage you to re-read chapter one BEFORE moving   
onto this new offering. Doing so might make this chapter a little more   
enjoyable.   
Oh, and for once, we're out of "prelude" mode.

Disclaimer: Everything associated with Sailor Moon is in no way, shape, or   
form owned by me. I don't intend to make any money off of this; that's up   
to the larger than life corporations out there. All that jazz about Sailor   
Moon in tons of disclaimers out there apply.

email: doniswong@hotmail.com

Rating: R (cussing)   
  
  
  
  


"Clean"   
Chapter 7

Eyes

A fanfic   
by

Don   
  
  


Eyes of the Past   
Forever then   


How important are we? In the greater scheme of things, what does the   
life of a few petty, bellicose, viral species known as humans mean? Time   
will always go on; the earth will not stop spinning - well, at least for a   
long time, much after we are all gone. So many greater specimens has the   
earth produced: those who never polluted, never warred, never bickered   
about immaterial subjects like law, language, and knowledge.   
They say that the amount of species who engage in mass warfare amongst   
their own can be counted on two hands; three of them are certain classes of   
ants, four are genetic abominations brought forth by unnatural conditions,   
and one... one of them sits typing, reading, and or saying these words.   
I am not important. My death will not be a great honorable glory where   
on the day of my funeral, the planets will align and the Garden of Eden   
will spring to life. My actions will be lost in a sea of meaningless   
gibberish, destined and fated to be nothing more than a passing memory to a   
passing breed of war-like mutations distantly related to bamboo climbers.   
My words will lose their meaning, my language will fade and my struggles -   
however much I would like to envision them eternal - will be left to the   
deaf winds.   
Why don't I lay down and die? Why don't I quicken this evolutionary   
pruning? We as part of this great kingdom of life have destroyed, soiled,   
and corrupted more than our fair share of it. We have left our sinister   
mark, so is it not time to go? Why do I insist on struggling, on denying   
myself, on understanding what will be forgotten in a blink of the cosmos'   
eye?   
Because... because these are my struggles. This is my tale. This is my   
understanding.   
These. Are. My. People.   
I am not important; we are not important. But, in our insignificance,   
we find importance. We make importance. Our lives may not mean much to the   
indomitable will of time, but for a little while, our overwhelming   
selfishness brings us great hope.   
Love, justice, truth, honor, good - we express what nature has been   
built upon in our own little selfish ways. Our legacy may be nothing, but   
the important thing is we tried and succeeded.   
"Tried and succeeded in what?" you may ask; don't ask me, I don't know.   
I'm not important and neither are you. My absolute absence or presence   
means nothing.   
So scary, ne? To have your center of being hinge on what you believe   
and what others believe of you - shoots the argument about everyone having   
a soul to hell, doesn't it? It's quite a logical assumption too: I for one   
know first hand the human "soul" can be tampered with. Besides, "the soul   
is a network of cranial fluids and nerve endings fused together by   
observable environmental reactions - 'experiences' - which are   
secondary to survival and evolution."   
"Gray's Anatomy," volume sixty, edition 601, page 602, paragraph   
two.   
If such a fragile, yet previously assumed eternal entity can't escape   
the touch and understanding of man, then it is subject to man's every whim.   
Mystery is what makes us gawk at something's beauty. When the mystery   
is gone, analyzed to death by science, that something is no longer   
beautiful, only intriguing.   
I mean, would you rather receive a crossbred Rosa filipes Kiftsgate or   
a red rose?   
I'd stick with the rose, thank you very much. Its petals open up,   
beckoning me to fall into it like a lover's dying embrace. The bud forms a   
soft kiss, almost like the lips of a soft-spoken soul with an even softer   
spoken heart - again, it beckons to fall into it and to forget my   
troubles... if only for a little while.   
On the other hand, the crossbred Rosa filipes Kiftsgate loses its grip   
on its petals due to its inability to maintain homeostasis. It   
plasmodifies, the inner membrane shrinking upon itself while the cell walls   
remain intact, weakening the bonds of stem to petal.   
Fuck the crossbred Rosa filipes Kiftsgate.   
I would rather the world be beautiful than intriguing, the very   
opposite of its current situation.   
Oh yes, isn't the dichotomy of earth versus Crystal Tokyo intriguing?   
How can so much poverty roam the streets of London while the mechanical   
angels of Tokyo ignorantly feast like gluttons? What an intriguing social   
science thesis paper: "If one completely removes the self-serving mechanism   
of humans, does the world become a better place? Is altruism the key to   
world peace?"   
Fuck intriguing.   
Without selfishness, there would be no undying love. Without evil,   
there would be no good. I know people say, "The universe is a balance,"   
but even that isn't true. The universe isn't about balance; it's about   
self-fulfilling survival. People do good because they believe it gives them   
a sense of fulfillment; likewise, people do evil for the same reason.   
For example, Mamoru would go to the ends of the world to save Usagi   
because his existence without her would be most uncomfortable. How selfish   
is that: to disregard the world no matter how productive you are and spare   
no expenses to reclaim your happiness. Selfishness permeates that act, but   
yet, we call it "undying love." Mamoru wouldn't go to the ends of the world   
for anyone else because "anyone else" doesn't bring him the joy Usagi does.   
He saves Usagi for himself, because her continued existence makes him so   
happy that her death would be the equivalent of his death. And believe me,   
no one wants to die.   
I say, what a double standard! What a sad but true reality! What an   
unforgivable travesty!   
What a fucking intriguing question.   
Selfishness brings us importance. Selfishness gives us hope. To remove   
that selfishness is an act of unreasonable malice, like a villain who   
derives no reward from killing but yet continues to kill. Such is an   
unfathomable thought to me, and, my friends, that is why I hate the   
Purging.   
How can someone ever do something that doesn't bring them some sort of   
- be it infinitely large or atomically small - satisfaction?   
Ah yes, another fucking intriguing question.   
See what understanding does? It undermines the mystery, the mystery of   
undying love, of good, and of God. No longer are those symbols of beauty   
and power but of convoluted half truths mixed with whole lies. And once   
understanding comes, no one can ever stop. Once something is understood,   
there will always be something else to understand, and then the next and   
then the next and the next and the next until... until...   
No. No "until." It'll never stop.   
Such is the world today, a world without a mystery. Everything is   
interesting and intriguing, but absolutely none of it sustains our   
emotional and spiritual selves.   
The fucking crossbred Rosa filipes Kiftsgate strikes again.   
Lazily, I turn my head to the right and look at the bedraggled, haggard   
man. Unkempt and unclean, so unlike everyone else here.   
And instead of intriguing, I find him mysterious, beautiful. He is like   
a stain on a shirt, a blemish on a face - awesome to behold because of its   
imperfection. Only months away from the outside world and I already miss   
his kind of demeanor, his trust-nobody, grizzly gaze.   
Curiosity pulls me forth. I know he is not a product of my handiwork   
and I long to hear the a real, human tainted voice.   
What do I say to man like that? What do I say to a man's whose steel   
enforced eyes glisten like a feral fangs? What do I say to a man whose   
world I helped exclude? What do I say to the awakened beast inside of us?   
What do I say to God's untouched creation?   
What do I say to a man?   
"Do you believe in happiness?"   
The question catches him off guard. I guess he really wasn't expecting   
me - or for that matter, anyone - to talk to him. Remarkably, he answers.   
"No. We live, we die, and we pay all the way. What's the joy in that?"   
I relate with those words, only, I miss out on the "we die" part.   
Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I died. Like I said before, I   
don't matter to that invincible stream of time, so what if I had died   
centuries ago? Did I really matter? Did I create that little source of hope   
for myself?   
Every night, I wish I could follow one of my dismal actions to its   
ultimate conclusion. I want to see if I set off some chain reaction that   
continues to flourish long after I have moved on. I guess I want to know:   
did I change the world or not?   
But then again, we all know the answer to that question...   
"Kind of bitter, aren't you?"   
Obviously, yes. This man is bitter and rude, two qualities which I   
would've long ago hated. Now though, I can't bring myself to do that. His   
attitude reminds me of my humanity, of my station in life: I may be a   
millennium his senior, but I am no good until I prove myself otherwise.   
It's cold, calculating, yet immensely appropriate.   
No one should ever be judged on name alone.   
I wait, tasting the stale air around him. Seconds drag by, his rudeness   
almost off-setting my talkative mood.   
Almost.   
I try another conversation starter. "So what brings a stranger like you   
to these parts?"   
He looks at his drink, swishing it around and gawking at it like a   
child. His arrogance begins to grind on my nerves. Yes, yes, it's very true   
that I haven't proved myself in his eyes yet - at least, not enough to   
start a deep conversation - but he is violating humane respect. He should   
answer me, if only in a dismissive grunt. What does he think I am? Forget   
that, what does he take me for?   
I will not grovel in front of an arrogant, egotistical, respect-lacking   
bastard.   
"Hello?" I say once more with annoyance, "Earth to- What's your name   
again?"   
Heaving a sigh, the man puts down his drink and leers at me. "Evan   
Wilson," he drawls, "People call me anything ranging from Ev to   
motherfucker. Take your pick."   
My lips curl up in a laugh, but I force myself to choke back the   
giggles. Such a typical guy answer, no? Sounds like something from a cheap   
western or campy romance novel. Actually, speaking about campy...   
"I think I'll stick with Mr. Wilson, thank you very much."   
Mr. Wilson - wasn't that from an old kids show? "Dennis the Jerk" or   
"Dennis the Dumbass" or something. My memory fails me occasionally.   
Might as well have some fun with the man's name.   
His eyes light up in one of those inquisitive ways, much like a   
reporter after they've stumbled upon something interesting. For a second,   
I'm stunned, boggled at what he would find so intriguing.   
"What's the matter?" he inquires while chugging another unhealthy gulp   
of his martini, "I thought all you people were suppose to be dolls and not   
take offense to anything. What? Something messed up in your genetic   
programming?"   
Ohhh, I get it now. He thinks I'm a product of my own work, a puppet   
without a master. Such irony to be mistaken for a race I killed, no? It   
says something about this world and the people outside looking in. It says   
that while everyone here may remain blind to their kidnapped egos, those   
from the scary, free-thinking world see the discrepancies. It says that we   
- the Sailor Senshi, Usagi, me - it says that we tried to play God and   
failed miserably.   
No one here knows they're in hell because this is a hell they love.   
Begs the question: is the world better off with 100%, wholesome   
spoon-fed happiness or 2% selective but true happiness?   
Me, I think we are all better off with small doses of heaven. Keeps us   
in line with our hearts, keeps us in touch with our lesser peers, and keeps   
us unfulfilled.   
Unfulfilled you ask? Yes, unfulfilled - take note, being unfulfilled   
can be a good thing because once everything is done, what else is there to   
do? Once we're fulfilled, we die, simple as that. When the sun rises   
tomorrow and we have nothing to live for, nothing to fight for, we atrophy.   
Look at the people in this bar. There's silence, and no, it's not the   
noiseless silence but the speechless silence. Music fills the air from   
concealed speakers, but no one is talking. Everyone is content - smiling   
even - but there's no personality. Nothing is beautiful - there's no one   
being the shoulder for someone else to cry on, there's no one cheering up   
someone else. When people are fulfilled, there's nothing left to talk   
about: no one needs cheering up, no one needs hope.   
And from there rises a pregnant silence hidden under a veil of smiles.   
Slowly, the people waste away, all the while thinking they're happy.   
Sadder still is that these people really are happy. They are happy   
because they think they're happy; I just wonder if they'll still be the   
same if they could gauge the situation for themselves.   
Such a cruel joke: God created us with the capacity to sin, but because   
of it, we were cast out from His grace. Now that we don't have the capacity   
to sin, what are we?   
What are we?   
Another fucking intriguing question.   
Slowly, I answer Mr. Wilson. "No, nothing went wrong with my genetic   
programming. And I am NOT from Crystal Tokyo, so lay off."   
Damn right I'm not from this... this... place. I'm from Tokyo, a flawed   
but brilliant ancient civilization where somehow, the wrong co-existed with   
the ri-   
"Growing an attitude?" asks Mr. Wilson as an arrogant grin crosses his   
face. "If you're not from this forsaken land, then what's up with the goody   
two shoes act?"   
It's not an act. I'm just naturally nice like I am naturally blonde,   
and damn it, no one can take that away from me. "What's wrong with being   
nice to strangers?"   
Suddenly, his eyes are emblazoned with an unspeakable wrath. He flails   
his arms side to side, almost knocking over his martini.   
"Everything!" he empathetically shrieks, "Have you seen the world? At   
every corner, there's a parentless child begging for food. In every house,   
there is a starving mother of five giving herself up to a richer man's   
pleasures so that her children can eat a meager meal! Governments are   
fighting amongst themselves; some try to solve problems, others fight for   
bribes!!! The world SUCKS, you can't trust anyone! This fantasy is the only   
place where you can honestly say hi to a person and not get clubbed because   
you're wearing clean clothes!"   
I've seen the world, boy, and I know what it looks like and how it   
acts. I know about the desperate mothers, dying children, laughing demons,   
and overwhelming troubles: I made them. I also know that for every one of   
those despicable lowlifes and downtrodden transients, there's a spark of   
hope Why else would they do the things they do? Why else would they club   
somebody for their clothes?   
Everyone is fighting for a better tomorrow, and no matter what sorry   
state the greater human race is in, that struggle is beautiful, admirable.   
Just how we do it is questionable.   
My immediate dislike of this man is cut off by my curious nature. "If   
you detest this place so, why don't you leave?"   
Almost unwittingly, he quickly says, "Can't. My boss is making me do   
this segment on those bitchy Senshi chicks. It's... Forget it, you won't   
understand."   
Boss? Segment? Senshi? If I didn't know better, I'd say Mr. Wilson here   
is a reporter. Doesn't the world get more and more interesting by the   
second? Here he is, telling a Senshi he's looking for the Senshi.   
Oh boy, I need a drink to stifle my giggles.   
After downing the beer in my mug, I indulge my curiosity and mutter,   
"Try me."   
He rolls his eyes and sizes up the situation. I guess he didn't see   
anything wrong with telling me everything: the man probably thought I was   
some drunk hooker. "We suspect there's something wrong in this heaven. Me   
being his only reliable onsight reporter, he's sent me here to check out   
the place. We have our theories about what's wrong, but they're only   
theories. I'm out to prove something."   
Conspiracies - the great American pastime. There's something to be said   
about their sixth sense for trouble: it's slow. I've been gone for ten   
years and now people finally realize something's amiss?   
Maybe I shouldn't get ahead of myself; maybe it isn't about me at all.   
I should ask, "What's the theory?"   
"One of the Senshi quit."   
BAM. Here comes the part where reality reasserts itself and I feel all   
guilty for leaving my friends behind. In about two seconds, I'll disregard   
all of this - my life, my experiences, my conscience - and unfurl like a   
badly wound ball of twine. My resolve will break and I will suddenly want   
to go back to them because the words of a strangers are the truest.   
I wait for the expect surge of feelings, but they don't come.   
"Interesting," I mutter to myself. Then, I realize this Mr. Wilson   
character is still there, so I quickly make a save. "And what makes you   
think that?"   
"For one thing, those infamous royal balls aren't being held anymore.   
It's like they're retreating to a private life while at any other time in   
history, they're living it up in the spotlight. There's bound to be   
something wrong if they're doing that. No picture has been taken of them   
for two freakin' years!"   
Infamous royal balls huh? I didn't know our gatherings were considered   
infamous. Actually, the better word is "realize": I didn't realize our   
gatherings were considered infamous. Well, now that I look at it, I could   
see why though. Royal ball equals powerful people. Lots of powerful people   
means lots of powerful deals. Lots of powerful deals means the powerful   
people finely dividing the shattered world amongst themselves.   
So our royal balls were just like golf: a neutral and protected meeting   
place for the top few aristocrats to carve out more power for themselves.   
Christ, no wonder there was war. We unwittingly flaunted our wealth and   
good fortune, insulting and belittling those who weren't as lucky as us.   
I bet that pissed off enough people to want us dead... or at least   
severely maimed.   
Mr. Wilson looks at me expectantly, waiting for a reply. I humor the   
man and say, "Twisted logic, but nevertheless, sound. And is this all you   
do? Dig up dirt on people and try to topple Serenity's rule through your   
pen strokes?"   
If such is what he is trying to do, then I commend him greatly. He   
could start a revolution without spilling a drop of blood. He could right   
the wrongs and build a new civilization not born out of war and deceit.   
"I'm trying to survive. Frankly, I don't care about anything else.   
These Senshi can have their happy little world, I want to live in my own."   
Unfortunately, not many people are as benevolent as they seem.   
Makes sense though. Why risk so much if there isn't a huge payoff? So,   
"This is all for money? You're risking your life, flying all over the   
world, dodging bullets, and sleeping in dumpsters because of money?"   
"Yes," he replies, already his attention diverted to another drink.   
As he waves the bartender over, I look back into my near-empty glass   
and softly mutter, "Seems you love your id," before downing what little   
droplets remain.   
Our dark side, our bestial qualities - can't live with 'em and   
certainly can't live without them. Without them, I wouldn't have a job...   
not that I have one now. The business of love and justice thrives on hate   
and injustice: just how are you going to bring love and justice to the   
world if it's already there?   
"At least," he suddenly snaps, "Unlike you, I'm fully human."   
Oh, that was low. "I told you: I'm not from Crystal Tokyo." Yet   
somehow, what he says sounds right. No human would ever deprive another   
human the ability to think - no thing with a soul (a true soul mind you)   
could ever brainwash another kindred spirit. However, I did.   
What does that make me?   
Getting up from his bar stool, Mr. Wilson throws a few bills on the   
counter before high tailing it out of here. There's an extra spring in his   
step, like he's nervous or anxious.   
"Leaving so soon, Mr. Wilson?" I playful prod.   
"Yeah, I'd love to sit and drink, but I have a job."   
"Will you be back tomorrow night?"   
"No."   
Cold bastard. Yeah, I may feel like shit for the Purging, but   
sometimes, I think some of those people deserved it.   
"God damn no good high and mighty reporter."   


Eyes of the Past   
Always wise   


****************   


Eyes of the Present   
Fleeting times   


Another night, another stack of reports. With all due respect, my   
browsing over the local law enforcement's daily activities wasn't   
necessary, but then, I was always a girl scout - never let anything fall   
through cracks, know what I mean? In this day and age, no one can be too   
careful.   
Faint footsteps reached my ears; by the time I lifted my head, Ami was   
already coming through arch and entering the garden. She immediately picked   
out where I was and came over to the bench I sat on. In her hands were two   
cups of coffee.   
"Working late, Makoto?" she asked with a smile.   
I accepted the steaming hot drink she handed me and took a test sip.   
"Yeah," I hissed, vainly trying to expel the heat burning my throat.   
We stayed quiet for a few minutes: I examined police reports while she   
examined Endyimon's bed of roses. Eventually, Ami's nosy ways got the   
better of her and her aimless drifting came to an end behind my shoulder.   
With picky eyes and that scrunched up Thinker look, the resident genius   
blazed through the paper I was reading all the while humming a catchy tune.   
What was it? Take Me Home Tonight? Beat It? I knew it was one of those   
oldies...   
"Do you mind?"   
As if catching her by surprise, Ami jumped back slightly and blushed   
heavily. "Gomen nasai. I-"   
"It's fine," I lazily dismissed.   
"But Mako-chan, I-"   
She started stammering again, even babbling a little. Admittedly, she   
was much better now, but... but... that wasn't saying much. She was still   
as bad as a schoolgirl caught in a makeout session.   
Hmph. Wasn't I the observant one?   
"Just don't worry about it," I answered amidst her babbling, "I know   
sometimes you can't-"   
"Makoto, it's just that-"   
"No need to explain!" I exclaimed. God, was she being chatty today or   
what? "All is-"   
Exacerbated, Ami threw her hands up and pointed to my files. "Look!"   
"Look what?"   
I followed her vantage point from face to finger to file. Yeah, so? "Is   
there a bug on me?" I quizzically asked.   
"THERE!"   
By now, her eyes were wide with - what was that? - surprise? Glee?   
Anger? She lunged at me, knocking me off the bench and making a grab for a   
particular file.   
"Ami! What's your problem?!"   
Now totally ignoring me, she breezed over the report again and bolted   
out of the garden, a whisper of wind in her wake.   
"Ami! Wait up! What's going on?!"   
From the depths of the palace, her voice echoed, "We're going to find   
Minako!"   


Eyes of the Present   
Left behind   


****************   


Eyes of the Future   
Deceiving all

Anticipation hung thick in the air as we gathered around the conference   
table. Those who hadn't heard Ami's exuberant proclamations were quickly   
filled in by an ecstatic Makoto. That look on Haruka's face - it breathed   
of relief. Throughout the years, she developed a grim outlook on Minako's   
fate: she had all but given up hope for our Senshi of Venus.   
Scouring the world and never quite picking up a scent did that to   
people.   
The same mood was passed on to Michiru which in turn trickled down to   
Hotaru. Ecstatic they were not, but nor were they relieved - wistful about   
described their outlook. Down in their hearts, they caught a glimpse of the   
journey ahead, a journey filled with pain, joy, and more pain.   
Who knew what trials Minako had gone through?   
Who knew what changes were ingrained in her vulnerable heart?   
A few of us had a clue including myself, but we weren't telling. The   
truth was always better found, never told.   
The double doors opened again, this time admitting the rest of the   
missing ensemble. Rei and Artemis were stoic, like dead-eyed suburbanites;   
Their Majesties positively glowed, though Serenity seemed to be holding   
back some miniscule but powerful emotion.   
I only assumed Luna had her hands full with Diana.   
Without wasting a moment, Ami blurted out again, "She's here in Crystal   
Tokyo! I saw her name in the police report and her description matched-"   
"We know," I kindly offered. It was hard not to know.   
At that, the room silenced. So many questions, so many paths - we stood   
at a crossroad and everyone sensed it. This was a point in time when   
universes intersected and exploded, one unifying point which all histories   
used as a reference. From here on out, the future distorted, hazed by a   
million possibilities hinged on one yet to be decided course of action.   
With each passing second, doors closed, missed opportunities now left   
to languish in the winds of nonexistence.   
With each passing second, infinite options unfurled, each one lying   
before us like fine meat at a deli.   
Haruka, never one to enjoy the wait, subtly cleared her throat. "I   
think we're all asking ourselves, 'What do we do now?'"

Thud. We were committed.

"We bring her back," stated Makoto, "Simple as that. We go pay this   
deviant, Evan Wilson, a little visit, jog his memory, and go from there.   
She couldn't have gotten too far - the report was filed a few hours ago. If   
she was drinking at a bar and talking to foul-mouthed onsight reporter, she's   
obviously in no hurry to leave. We have people looking out for her at all   
points leaving Crystal Tokyo and backtrack from her last known location. He   
said she took a taxi, so we check out the public transportation records and   
see where they lead. There, simple as that. I can have the necessary   
information here in ten minutes tops, so we better start-"   
"You're talking like we're hauling in a dangerous criminal."   
We turned our heads and met the darkened visage of Rei, her glossy eyes   
leering at Makoto from under her long, now unkempt bangs.   
Shrugging off the hint of disdain, Makoto replied, "We're trying to   
find Minako, and I'm sorry if I'm going about this like a manhunt but we're   
left with little choice. If she could disappear like she did ten years ago,   
this window of opportunity we have is very small. Simple as that."   
A distressed moan emanated from Artemis. "Could you PLEASE stop saying   
those three damned words?! Maybe, just maybe, it isn't as 'Simple as that!'   
We're talking about Minako, not an outlaw! She is your friend, your sister   
- all I ask is that we treat her accordingly or... or..."   
He took a deep breath and resignedly sighed. "Or we could push away   
forever."   
Her defender till the end, her knight in shining armor: the first one   
to come to her aid, the last one to leave her sight. Even after seeing,   
hearing, and experiencing what became of his charge, he still rushed to   
protect her.   
If only Minako could see him right now...   
... she'd probably laugh.   
Flustered, Jupiter plopped into her seat, crossing her arms. "Well,"   
she huffed, "Anyone with any brighter ideas, please, be my guest."   
No time was wasted.   
"For one thing," said Rei, "We could try and verify if this Aino Minako   
is really Minako. How many people go by that? All we have right now is a   
drunk reporter spouting off a name which could've come from anywhere. Once   
we do that, a few of us go and talk to her, find out if there's anything   
wrong. Like Artemis said, swearing a warrant for her arrest-"   
"I never said that!"   
"But you implied it."   
"Don't you try and put words in my mouth!"   
Swooping in to make the save was Michiru. "Minna, we're getting   
nowhere," she pointed out. "We have to take advantage of the situation but   
still keep in mind Minako's thoughts and feelings. To do that, we have to   
hold back on our emotions for a little while..."   
Good advice, but how did you rein the emotions of a group individuals   
who've been using nothing but their hearts for all eternity?   
"Minna," whispered Serenity, "What if she doesn't want to come back?"   
If I recall correctly, my attention drifted that moment (not that it   
wasn't drifting before). Our meeting degraded into ceaseless bickering;   
everyone had their own opinions about what was right. Worst thing was,   
everyone was right, no one was wrong. Ironically, in the clutches of   
righteousness, differences shimmered into the forefront. Diverse   
methodology was misconstrued, reinterpreted in each of their minds as   
"wrong."   
And why not? Because two people didn't agree, one of them must've been   
wrong... or so they thought.   
Even after a millennium's evolution, my sisters still weren't able to   
wrap their minds around the conundrum known as "multiple perspectives."   
One plus three equaled four, but so did two plus two. Neither procedure   
was wrong, neither procedure was better - the debate arose from which the   
opposing parties preferred.   
Of course, Makoto had gone with an aggressive stance. Rei had proposed   
diplomacy, a option seconded by Ami. Michiru - as always supported by   
Haruka - tried to strike some sort of middle ground.   
Such an intriguing situation, but god awfully volatile as well. How did   
it ever get this way? How did a group innocent, well-meaning family members   
ever grow so... so...   
... confused?   
They used their hearts too much, that's how. Each one of them too   
idealistic in their own way, each one of them too stubborn to accept   
anything but perfection - in days when there was still war between good and   
evil, their mindsets were invaluable: it kept them fighting. Over time,   
everyone developed their own sense of honor and morality, as well everyone   
should. The problem arose when peace came around and time to examine   
themselves suddenly cropped up.   
What? You mean Makoto didn't like Rei? You mean Minako never agreed   
with Serenity?   
The Senshi were people in themselves. They had many sides, many   
opinions, and sometimes, those opinions didn't coincide with each other.   
The Senshi were not only born to be fighters but also leaders: they were   
the whole army from infantry to standard bearer to general. That's what   
made them so effective and efficient.   
But what happened when leaders came together?   
Naturally, egos clashed. In any situation, there can only be one leader   
- at the moment, we had nine. The natural thing happened.   
The Silver Millennium solved this entropic problem by distributing a   
planet to each Senshi. They would be ruled by a unifying body, but in their   
spare time, they could toy with their own little microcosm. Instead of   
trying to impress their views upon other equally stubborn and righteous   
individuals, they could do it to a pack of willing followers.   
Problem solved.   
But here in Crystal Tokyo, there was one planet of which contained only   
one nation the Senshi held.   
Too many big fish in too small of a pond.   
Problem rising, rising, rising-   
And now, problem quite possibly exploding.   
I don't remember how long it took or how many wounds were dealt, but   
some semblance of a plan rose from the ashes. Everyone agreed that the   
starting point should be Evan Wilson, so they decided to build from there.   
Of course, a minor scuffle occurred about who should go meet this loud   
mouthed individual.   
And of course, I stayed out of the decision making and chose to make my   
own decisions.

Eyes of the Future   
Hidden call   


****************   


Eyes of the Future   
Stoic wall

The scene unfolded before me, intrigue and all. Makoto and Ami cleared   
the bar with a polite request to the owner; meanwhile, Haruka and Michiru   
waited across the street, scouting for the duo inside. Unbeknownst to them,   
one particularly daring and fool hearted reporter was hanging around in an   
alley next to the bar, a mini-transmitter in hand. Chances were he had some   
kind of recording device hidden inside the establishment. The star of the   
show, the object of our wait, had yet to arrive, but already people were   
fighting for her.   
Me, I stood in the dark, unseen like always, gently guiding but never   
imposing.   
Each participant stalked some kind of prey and never once realized the   
competition they posed to each other. The line between hunter and hunted   
blurred, which begged the question, "Who was going to strike first?"   
Did Haruka and Michiru have a plan of their own? Were they going on the   
presumption that Makoto was handling the situation wrong? Were they ready   
to intercept Minako at first sight? Moreover, was that Evan Wilson   
character merely eavesdropping? Did he have something truly sinister   
planned? Did he fancy himself Minako's white knight here snatch her from   
the clutches of evil? Was he a relic from our previous wars or was he a   
true fool?   
And I hadn't even begun to count the possibilities with Makoto and Ami.   
Such an intriguing turn of events, no?   
The more we don't know, the more we envision ourselves masters of our   
world. When was anyone going to take that to heart?   
During my mental wanderings, Minako appeared. All of us tensed, primed   
for battle whether battle meant psychological or physical warfare. Funny   
how she had the ability to alter any mood to her state of mind - she seemed   
to exude, almost impose, her emotions on others. Her very visage set all of   
us on edge.   
I never took notice to the façade of a mystery surrounding her   
departure, unlike minna. Simply put, she was so empathic she felt the   
rumblings of discord from humanity itself. The wounded souls from the   
Purging howled in her direction, hounding her day and night. She was the   
walking incarnation of foolhardy conscience speak, fluent in the language   
of all that was emotion. Whether the emotions undying love or hate, she   
heard it all, the wailings seemingly guiding her course of life.   
And again with the heart-thinking.   
When was she going to learn that her heart would lead her astray?   
Sometimes, cold and calculating was the only way to get to the light at the   
end of the tunnel. Would be great if the heart could be a substitute, but   
unfortunately, we all didn't think nor feel the same. With great emotions   
came great egos, with great egos came divergent opinions, with divergent   
opinions came turmoil - feelings must be sacrificed for a better tomorrow.

The present was merely time to prepare for the future.   
If some things weren't destroyed ages ago, this present would've never   
been.   


God forbid, I wouldn't be able to take that.

Eyes of the Future   
Shattering fall   


****************   


Eyes of the Past   
Always present   


So that was it. Clean and broken.   
I came, I saw, I retreated. I had neither the inclination nor the   
courage to face my fears. I couldn't correct or destroy them, so I hung my   
head in shame, tail between my legs, and left. For all my musings, I was   
still that far from peace and comfort. Actually, after some level, I hurt   
more than ever.   
Back then, there was still hope, hope for right to prevail. Now though,   
seeing the static passiveness of the Senshi, there was no more hope.   
What could I say? They liked it - fewer problems this way.   
Instead of challenging them like I should've, I adopted my aggressive   
mask and pushed them away. Instead of talking, I retaliated. True, words   
alone never solved anything, but they were good starts to the solutions.   
Why did I act so blind?   
Why did I have to be so stubborn?   
Why was I such a coward?   
To descend upon a ravenous daimon, to dance with death in the   
battlefield, to sleep with the enemy both in this life and the last -   
child's play compared to the sheer terror forbidden friendsh- NO, forbidden   
love brought. So intense was and still is my love that I could never hurt   
them so by bringing to light my traitorous thoughts.   
What I'd seen and felt could only spell disaster: look where it landed   
me. All questions and no answers - seemed like some higher power was toying   
with my entire existence, baiting me like a starving fish. At one time, I   
might've been able to pass on my curse.   
At one time.   
But I was being selfish again. This struggle defined me, made me, gave   
me reason to continue existing. No more did I rely on others to give me a   
reason to live: I lived because I willed it so. What I've shared and   
experienced gave me eternal life, life to contemplate about the past, life   
to futilely fight against it.   
Would I be so cruel as to curse them with guilt-ridden immortality?   
No. This was a burden I alone would bear. Should they one day come to   
my state of being, I'd share my thoughts, but till then... till then...   
I wished them the best.   
I loved them, and if not with my mind or heart then at least with what   
I'd like to call my soul. I loved them for the people they were, and on   
some level, for the people they are. They gave me pleasure and pain, home   
and homelessness. They became my family, friends, and enemies. The fact   
that I could hate them so intensely yet so relentlessly shield them from my   
sorrow verified my love.   
I hurt for them because they couldn't feel the pain.   
How did the saying go?   
"You only hate because you care enough to hate."   
I may have said many things during these ten years, but I never said I   
didn't care. I cared for everyone and everything, Senshi and mortal alike.   
I had too much love to give and now that the people of Crystal Tokyo didn't   
need my love anymore, I needed to share it with others.   
My actions today - while stupid, hasty, and cruel - felt natural, like   
it was suppose to happen.   
Maybe I was wrong and God was punishing me for being an ingrate by   
taking away my friends. Maybe I was right and it was time for me to move   
on. Maybe my departure was written in the stars, fated in some way to bring   
the world full circle. Maybe another enemy was looming in the background   
silently manipulating and destroying us so it could easily take over earth.   
Maybe it was time to care for people outside of Crystal Tokyo and I was to   
be the catalyst.   
Whatever the case may be, I had no regrets.   
I had grown up and obviously, the Senshi hadn't. Didn't know if that   
was a good thing or not, but the fact was we didn't see eye to eye anymore.   
The person they desperately wanted back was gone, left somewhere in the   
dust on a cold London day.   
When I said "I quit," Sailor Venus died. I renounced the ageless ties   
to my Queen, my subjects, and my comrades. No longer was I a Senshi, no   
longer was I a part of them. I had become a ronin, a masterless warrior   
bound to no one but myself.   
Did I like that feeling? No. I was empty, devoid of all identity.   
Had Aino Minako still been alive, I might've found some solace in my   
resignation. I could live out my dreams, become a movie star, singer,   
dancer, and athlete. But times were different - formerly simple pleasures   
were not appreciated. Most of the population had no idea what a volleyball   
looked like.   
I left Aino Minako behind a thousand years ago when I forsook her to   
become Sailor Venus. With Sailor Venus dead, what was I? Who was I?   
I was a shell of my former selves with the body of a Senshi and the   
name of a tragically killed girl, that's who I was.   
A husk. A shadow.   
Empty...   
Empty, but yet driven by naked emotions made by past lives.   
Before I knew it, the taxi had stopped and I hadn't spoken a word to   
Evan. Casting a glance sideways, I saw his puppy dog eyes gazing at me like   
a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.   
I wanted to open my mouth, to tell him it was alright and that I hoped   
he would one day find his heaven. Instead, my voice failed me.   
I didn't know what to say to God's untainted creation.   
I didn't know what he wanted to hear.   
Then, my feet betrayed me. Five seconds later I was cutting through the   
throngs of people, disappearing amongst the crowd like a ghost. I had   
become one of them again - a person I mean - and it was time to rejoin   
them. Something in me demanded it.   
By natural reaction, I sped toward the European departure gates.   
Even so far away, I felt Evan's stare burrowing into my back, the   
maelstrom of confusion up in his head so strong that even I sensed it. He   
wanted to express something, some thought, but words seemed so inadequate   
and useless. He wanted to expose his heart or at least offer a humble   
apology. He wanted a clean slate with me, as if I was the only person to   
ever matter in his life.   
However, he need not say it: I knew... at least, I knew what he felt.   
Why he wanted to have those things I hadn't the foggiest, but I knew   
how the words died in his throat, forever languishing in the unsaid. I knew   
how the combination of thought filtered through sounds seemed   
inappropriate, how they resonated so lamely while his heart pounded with   
ferocious strength.   
I only knew too well.   
I never was the wordsmith.   
So, I settled upon a small "smile and wave;" he settled upon a look   
between mystified and relieved. It was perfect, beautiful, perfectly   
beautiful. No words, no ambiguities, just a set of simple actions.   
Funny how a smile was worth a thousand good-byes, a million apologies   
and a billion words.   
As the plane quietly rumbled to life, I caught a brief glimpse of the   
Senshi charging onto the runway. Too late though - they didn't know where I   
was and I wasn't about to tell them.   
Clean break, right? That meant no more going back and crying to   
anybody. That meant I was alone in this world with no kindred spirit.   
And damn it, I felt good. I felt good to be amongst mere mortals again   
even if I wasn't truly one of them; and really, I didn't think my status as   
a former Senshi made any difference.   
Besides, wasn't my center of being hinged on what I believed and what   
others believed of me? My slate wiped clean, my heart reborn - I didn't   
have a soul to tamper with just yet: no knew of me, not even myself.   
Now began my redefinition, my second shot at life.   
Now began my happiness, happiness I would find based on what I thought   
to be true.   
Now I could truly be called a dreamer, a dreamer of not only a better   
today but also a better tomorrow.   
Now I will claim my soul, the soul I was never privileged to have.   
I thought I'll earn it.

But past and future collided.

My mind cleared; the previously unnoticed fog in my eyes lifted.   
I saw a gloved hand on my shoulder; my lips parted enough to whisper   
one word.

"Setsuna."   
Eyes of the Past   
Dead.   
  
  
  
  
  
  


**************   
Author's Notes   
**************

Strange, no? Please stay tuned for one more chapter and the epilogue   
where some of your questions will be answered...   
My sincerest thank you to those fans who stuck by me through the good   
times and bad. This series has been taxing on my work riddled mind; your   
patience and encouragement are what keep me going. I have yet to discover   
the appropriate words to express my gratitude, but when I do, you will all   
hear from me.   
Till next time. I hope you've at least enjoyed this experimental foray.

-Don.   
3/10/01   



	8. Clean - Chapter 8

********  
Foreword  
********  
  
Yes, this is another well delayed smattering of fanfiction.  
This chapter has been in the making for well over two years, ever since  
I started writing this series. To those who have been reading (and perhaps  
waiting) for the conclusion, I humbly offer it to you now. Because of  
circumstances outside my control, this is going to be my final work. If  
you've been following the story, I ask that you read the author's notes at  
the end.  
Come for the fic. Stay for the credits.  
  
  
Disclaimer: Everything associated with Sailor Moon is in no way, shape, or form  
owned by me. I don't intend to make any money off of this; that's up to the   
larger than life corporations out there. All that jazz about Sailor Moon in tons   
of disclaimers out there apply.   
  
  
email: doniswong@hotmail.com   
  
Rating: R (cussing, violence)   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Clean"  
Chapter 8  
  
Finale  
  
  
A fanfic  
by  
  
Don  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Worlds spiraled by me. Colors, forms, thoughts and blood glowed in an  
odd perforation unnatural to the human eye. Chills both physical and  
figurative shot through my marrow like an unwanted transfusion of cancerous  
sanguine. I felt my body rip itself apart, a disturbingly familiar sense of  
pain and disjointment overtaking my battered spirit. When I couldn't stand  
it anymore, when my eyes rolled into the back of my shattered head, when I  
collapsed to the unseen ground, my body slammed back into reality with a  
force not unlike a runaway train greeting a wall of cement.  
Time travel - what a bitch.  
I took a few moments to catch my breath. Beads of sweat flooded down my  
brow, its source somewhere from my matted hair. Focus was a foreign  
concept: despite my dead stare into one single place, nausea simmered in my  
gut waiting to boil over.  
Never did I so want to kill Setsuna.  
A gentle hand caressed my back in that motherly way, comforting me like  
a nourished baby. And like the baby, I couldn't resist the desire to burp,  
but what came out was definitely not a cute expulsion of gas.  
"Easy, Minako," cooed Setsuna, "Don't try to overexert yourself."  
Rivers of flame coursed through my veins; the wave of sickness washed  
away like a blood stain. Maybe it was the scar of bad memories, maybe it  
was the years of sly manipulation, maybe it was because she stood for  
something I no longer believed in, but reason skitter away from my flimsy  
grasp.  
"GET AWAY FROM ME!"  
At least, that's what I intended to shout. Instead, a strangled gurgle  
escaped my bile-filled throat; it was followed by a dismissive sprint in a  
random direction, namely, "away from the voice." Unbeknownst to me, we were  
on a tall building and I was hurling myself over the ledge.  
The same motherly hand stiffened into an iron, vice-like grip, fully  
reminding me who I was with.  
When my world remerged into one, I found myself peering into slightly  
worried but otherwise unreadable magenta eyes. Her figure loomed above like  
me the sun and the moon, her figure becoming my world. Somehow, the  
sensation wasn't all so unfamiliar.  
She helped me up, her face assuming the infamous "You have questions  
and I have answers" expression.  
Where are we? When are we? Can I go away now? Can't you just go away?  
Why am I here? Why are you here? What do plan on doing to me? Did you tell  
the others? Are you going to drag me back to Crystal Tokyo?  
"Why does time travel make me feel like... like... this?"  
She shook her head and smiled. "You get used it after a while."  
We stayed like that for agonizing minutes. I refused to cave, refused  
to give in to those nagging sensations known as curiosity and anxiety. I  
had bent and swayed to the whims and wills of others for all my life, but  
now, I had finally stood up for myself. It might have been a stupid and  
agonizing stand, but I wouldn't - couldn't - go back to playing their  
games... any of their games.  
Besides, a slave could become a freeman, but a freeman could never  
become a slave.  
She reminded me of my gilded cage.  
She held me back from myself.  
"Don't you want to know why you're here?" she asked, hints of surprise  
in her voice.  
I snorted and threw my hair back. "If you know my questions, then why  
should I even need to ask?"  
"Because I don't know everything."  
"How can you not know everything?" I stalked up to her aiming my most  
authoritative gaze in her direction. "You've always had that omniscient  
expression on your face. You've always shown at the most opportune of times  
to pull us out of trouble. You've always said you're privileged to  
information even we aren't suppose to see. For God's sake woman, YOU are  
the Guardian of Time!"  
"Guardian," she emphasized, "Not master."  
Not master. Hmph. Sometimes, I wondered, "How far from the truth is  
that?"  
Apparently, she caught my grumblings and prepared for another one of  
her patented patient-but-getting-annoyed replies.  
I cut her off at the pass. "Fine. I'll fall back into our parlay  
routine, if only to entertain your superior ego. This is a war I simply  
can't hope to win."  
"And what is that suppose to mean?"  
What did I mean? What infinitely compulsive grain of my mind screamed  
out that line? Wasn't I tired of fighting? Didn't I wish for peace? Wasn't  
I striving for something else - something bloodless - in my life?  
Why did everything I touch come down to a struggle?  
"It means I don't want to fight you anymore," I sighed, "I'm here for  
a reason, a reason only you know. Tell me at your leisure."  
I turned around and glanced at my surroundings. Clouds rolled overhead  
like legions of cotton candy at a carnival. Light peeked through the  
throngs, rays falling gently on the quiet ground. The air smelled nice,  
perhaps even alive; aromas wafting from places around - restaurants,  
stores, street vendors - drove a quaint, homely sensation into my heart.  
Voices of bubbly teenagers and stoic adults filtered into the winds,  
buffeted along by the softest of caresses, scattered to the corners of the  
world.  
It reeked of innocence. It overflowed with peace. It rumbled with happy  
days on end.  
Good old Juubangai.  
Across the street, a myriad of girls dominated the sidewalk. A few were  
shouting, a few were sighing, but all of them were smiling. One of the  
girls tripped and fell face first, nose-diving onto the hard pavement.  
Before she could even touch the ground, four pairs of hands snagged her,  
supported her, helped her. The aforementioned girl blushed and mumbled a  
few choice words, presumably a show of gratitude. They quickly piled into  
the Crown arcade before anyone else saw them.  
I rolled my eyes and craned my neck back toward Setsuna.  
"What do you want me to think? That I'm wrong? That my so-called  
'irrational' actions have somehow lead to the end of such carefree  
frolicking in our future generations? I'm sorry, Setsuna, but you're a bit  
late and a dollar short: I know the grief I've caused and frankly, I can't  
afford to give a damn."  
She breathed deeply, her icy composure a solid layer of armor. Nothing  
I said fazed her, and for a brief second, I wondered if we had this  
conversation before only she retained the knowledge from the previous  
encounter whereas I was stumbling blindly through this temporal vortex of a  
scenario.  
My head hurt.  
"Stop thinking about what you've destroyed," she carefully said, "and  
instead focus on what you've created. I bring you here today to show you  
what will be, not what was."  
Liar. "This is the past. This isn't the future."  
"Only because you let it be. What you see here can be rebuilt. You've  
done it once, so why can't you do it again? As long as your soul - which is  
as eternal as time, mind you - remains, your world still has hope. I am  
here to help and guide you."  
"I don't want-"  
  
  
Realization. It parted the heavens and struck me between the eyes.  
  
  
I  
am  
here  
to  
help.  
  
  
A flash and a scene change. The roof melted revealing Usagi clothed in  
princess attire. Atop a spike of ice, I floated, my soul jammed between  
oblivion and consciousness. A mantra snatched from the future echoed  
throughout the undead plane, my anchor to a quickly fading world: "Minna, I  
need your help."  
Closer and closer I struggled, my friend so far away. I didn't how to  
help, but I had to. I needed to.  
Then she mouthed, "Minna, I need your help."  
  
  
I  
am  
here  
to  
guide.  
  
  
A crack of lightning and a roar of thunder. My icy tomb reformed into a  
rooftop, a dark, gray rooftop of death. My chest - my whole being - hurt. I  
saw minna lying on the ground next me like a haphazard dispersion of cherry  
blossoms. I was empty, I was dying, but I was dying for her. I did my duty,  
but it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough. Utter desperation and sadness ruled  
my final thoughts, and then... and then...  
A slight feeling of nausea swept through me just before time stopped.  
  
  
I  
am  
here  
to  
support.  
  
  
An explosion and a crash. Rei clung to my battered form like a baby,  
tears streaming from her soul. I witnessed her resurrection - figuratively  
speaking, of course - her ascendance from a grief stricken teen to an  
indebted ball of conviction. The glow of selfishness became a black hole of  
self-righteousness thanks to Death's fleeting touch.  
The aforementioned explosion reminded me of danger, and as my gaze  
circumnavigated Rei's visage and landed on the airport ceiling, I saw  
concrete slabs collapse upon us. Time slowed giving me time to push away  
the pain in my leg, gather my wits, and hurl both me and her in a random -  
and hopefully - safe direction.  
Like a bad action movie, time regained traction and sped along its  
merry way.  
  
  
I  
am  
here  
to  
destroy.  
  
  
Power. Intense, blinding, corrupting power surged to and from me, the  
ache of every particle magnifying a hundred fold. In a split second, my  
eyes shot open and I tried to reel back in the energy like a tasteless  
quip.  
I tried, but I couldn't. I was rooted in position, waves upon waves of  
exhaustion crashing against me as bloodcurdling cries of agony and misery  
buffeted the skies. I saw minna, tired and spent, gasping for air. I saw  
Rei, a relieved smile on her face.  
I tried to scream at her, to beg her to hear the protests of our people  
as they slowly forgot sadness or happiness. I tried to tell her how wrong  
we were.  
But I couldn't. The reprimanding gaze of Setsuna - the only one among  
us still standing - closed my mouth and kept me still.  
My last thought was...  
  
  
... coming back to earth. A millennium's manipulation clicked into  
place. Gears of mechanisms much greater than myself - however great I  
thought I was - emerged from the drawn curtains. Shadows peeled away to  
reveal the poison which polluted my soul. I gasped and choked, unable to  
breath, unable to comprehend.  
Unable to live.  
Eyes wide as saucers, I whispered, "You..."  
She looked like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She  
gripped her staff tighter, shifting it into a semi-defensive position. She  
grimaced, her expression that of a discovered snake.  
My mind numbed. My body was ethereal. I didn't know life anymore. A  
sudden stroke of unwanted truth ruptured my existence, spurred by an eon of  
memories. Was my entire life a waking dream? Did SHE guide my fate  
whichever way it faced? Was this another one of her games, a small match in  
a tournament where the only winner was her?  
More veils tore away. More lies surfaced. More pain lurked around the  
corner.  
This was why I wanted to forget, to run, to never return to Crystal  
Tokyo. I could've drowned my sorrows, spent another thousand years - or  
however my wretched body persevered - without knowing what I know, but I  
didn't. I chose to find the truth, to exonerate myself by discovering some  
proof of my righteousness.  
What a fool I was. What an idealistic, arrogant fool. Here was my  
proof. Here was my truth. Here was my purpose for living!  
She manufactured me - manufactured the Senshi! - to guide the world as  
she saw fit. We were tools, to be used, sharpened, then discarded when  
the greater objective was fulfilled. No, Setsuna wasn't the Guardian of  
Time: she was my master, my puppeteer, my regent, my God.  
An infinitesimal part of me - a tiny, tiny, formerly bothersome and  
ambiguous voice - knew, somehow. That tiny part saw the close shaves, the  
impossible saves and the mistress conducting the symphony of falsehood.  
That's why it told me to run, to forget, to seek a new purpose in another  
world because... because... I had no purpose to begin with. It told me to  
dash away the memories in London, to find my lost inner child in Paris, to  
blind myself with love in Montreal, to drug and destroy my old self in Hong  
Kong. It told me to kill Sailor Venus. It told me to throw off the yoke  
of responsibilities and master my own destiny.  
That voice... that voice was me. Aino Minako. The girl who died a  
thousand deaths and caused a million more. The girl I was told to ignore  
for the greater good, for my duty, for my queen.  
The final curtains loomed before me.  
"Why, Setsuna? How?"  
She tucked away her displeasure, instead adopting a small grin. Her  
defensive stance never slackened. "Why, you ask? Why not? Don't you  
remember the world around you during your childhood? Filled with disease,  
riddled with poverty, accosted by hate - that vicious cycle dominated  
countless civilizations. Tides of pestilence offset times of prosperity,  
the stubborn process started and restarted by ignorant ruling bodies  
tripping over themselves, jockeying for one-upmanship. I was tired of it,  
Minako, tired of watching towering juggernauts fall before attaining true  
happiness. Chinese, Egyptian, European, Russian, American - from whatever  
culture, whenever in time, innumerable souls have suffered again and again  
because of the same mistakes. I want to stop that suffering. I want to see  
a mother's eyes light up when she cradles her child in its sleep. I want  
everyone to enjoy life without the self-destructing hands of jealousy and  
hate tainting their lives. I want to have a civilization obtain perfection  
so those aforementioned souls will experience some measure of peace."  
"And we're your means to this perfect world?" I asked, indignation  
gracing my voice. "We're your immortal government, powerful enough to wipe  
away all traces of sadness, eternal so that we'll always remember past  
transgressions?"  
"Yes."  
"Well, what about me, Setsuna?! What about me?! Did you ever ask me if  
I wanted to take part in this nature defying experiment?! Did you once stop  
to think about my soul or my happiness?! Did it ever occur to you that  
knowing your methods, knowing the pains I had to go through, knowing this  
world's sacrifices, that I would not - COULD NOT - approve?!"  
She spread her arms out motioning to the peaceful surroundings and  
asked, "But how could not approve? This was where my endeavor began.  
Despite countries warring with each other, despite hardships of all kinds  
leaking forth from man's doings, did you ever experience any of it? When  
you walked down the street, did you see one person lying on the pavement,  
newspaper swamping him like a blanket? At night, did you fear for yourself  
when you went home late? Were people anything but grateful when the beloved  
Sailor Senshi showed up to save the world? Wasn't your family kind and  
supportive, filled with pride about their daughter who was so full of life  
and knowledge despite her being a bit flaky and ditzy? Your mother  
beamed-"  
"You shut your mouth. You have no right to talk about my mother, you  
heartless manipulator."  
"I have no right? Minako, I made your family. I made you. You stand  
here today because of my hand; otherwise, you'd just be another soul  
waiting in that long line to pursue another pointless existence."  
Peel back the layers, open the skeleton-filled closet, tear away the  
curtains, and what did I get? Lies built upon lies while truth - the  
tattered truth I made - languishes in the winds of time. "What about the  
Moon Kingdom? What about our past lives?"  
"A convenience. True, the utopia you recall did exist, but like all  
great social experiments, it failed because of internal strife, civil  
unrest, and political corruption. Back then, I was as naive as you,  
thinking that if enough kindness was in the world everyone would be happy.  
I watched as powerful, idealistic individuals - of which your were one -  
guide harmonious nations, smiled as hope brimmed from every corner of life.  
I took part in the doomed project and used my power to help delay the  
inevitable failure because I thought it could work."  
She sighed regretfully, "Naive, I tell you. Naive as you. I put my  
heart into the kingdom, into its people. Imagine the pain which consumed me  
when the civilization shattered.  
"And before you even ask about the Dark Kingdom, let me tell you that  
it and Serenity's lot were one in the same. The vile 'evil' that you  
destroyed a thousand years ago rose from the ashes of the poor and desolate  
trying to eke out a better existence for themselves. Their selfish but  
paradoxically 'noble' goals allowed others to manipulate them; the Dark  
Kingdom represented nothing more than a pack of lesser farmers spurred to  
action by lesser statesmen craving for more. I chose all of you to start  
this beginning with me because I admired you idealism, your devotion; they  
were tested enough when the Dark Kingdom advanced upon you. The only great  
evil, Minako, is man himself. The world had to realize that, but it didn't,  
so I'm lending a helping hand by pushing forth this realization."  
I tried to say something. I tried to will myself into defiance. I tried  
to fight back.  
But what do I say to Her? What do I say to my Maker? What do I say to  
my God?  
Centuries of hard living streaked across my mindscape, intersecting and  
weaving into an orchestrated mosaic of perverted happiness. Things -  
then-thought pointless activities, seemingly death defying saves,  
improbable second, third, and fourth chances - tumbled onto me like an  
avalanche of news that could and did break the foolish frame which stood  
against it. I wavered, a flame in the eye of the hurricane, an ant before  
a tidal wave, a woman without a country.  
I did the only thing I could.  
I fought back, thinking that if I fought against her I could also fight  
back the hurt.  
The transformation washed over me, imbuing me with unimaginable power  
fueled by my emotions. Lances of energy streaked out from my fingers,  
thirsting for its "savior's" blood. Meteors impacted in empty places,  
places I could've sworn she was at. She was suddenly behind me, and I let a  
deadly kick loose in her vicinity. Of course, the strike met nothing but  
air.  
Maybe my uncontrolled sobs hindered my vision, but as fast as the fight  
had begun, it was over. I whipped my head around just in time to see a pink  
globe smash into me. It sent me careening onto rubble filled floor and  
knocked the wind out of me.  
As I regained my bearings, her soft voice rang out again.  
"Can't you see? I'm trying to help. Man doesn't know what's good for  
himself, so he must be told. Do you want an endless cycle of selfishness  
and pain? Do you want the blood of posterity to be spilled on the ground  
you walk? Do you want famine and plagues to roam the earth?"  
No... no... "What you're doing is against nature!"  
"Really?" she almost taunted, "Like nature ever intended us to have  
skyscrapers and weapons of mass destruction. Nature has never stopped  
anyone - or anything - from seeking out their own goals."  
"Then why can't we seek happiness on our own?"  
"Because there is none. We must make it. Nature is not a kind mother.  
She tries to tell us that fulfillment will leap upon us when we are the  
most selfish, when our minds can think of no one but ourselves, when we  
rise above the conquered bodies of our challengers. What of those conquered  
bodies? What about those who can't claw their way to Nature's prime  
positions? They are also privileged to touch heaven, not just the select  
few."  
I heard the subtle undertones. "Why fight me?" the wind whispered. "We  
want the same thing," the sea rumbled. "Come back with me," time echoed.  
Most of all, my heart ached to belong, so much so that it cried, "Why do  
you torment me?" If I returned with her, I would acknowledge to living a  
lie, to be an instrument of an artificial God.  
Ahh, but the future was a good lie, a great life. Friends, family,  
fame, fortune, fulfillment - all of it was there, waiting for me.  
Everything that I ever wanted was put in front of me on a crystal platter.  
Nothing was unattainable, nothing was undoable, nothing was... nothing. No  
more tears, no more sleepless nights, no more mournful internal monologues,  
no more pain, no more selfishness.  
God provided all, didn't She?  
"Knowing the things you know, seeing the things you've seen," said  
Setsuna, measuring me, "Will you return? Crystal Tokyo needs you. Your  
people need you. I need you."  
My shoulders slumped. My hair fell in front of my face. I picked myself  
up off of the debris filled ground.  
I smiled. Finally, I smiled a genuine, unabashed smile.  
Power surged through me gathering at the tip of my index finger, enough  
power to punch through a company or two of oncoming forces. It was a  
practiced maneuver. I concentrated, focusing the beam into a thin, narrow  
projectile of death. Never had I so gathered myself into one desperate  
shot. Never had I so thrown myself into a last ditch effort. Newfound  
resentment bristled with excitement and urged me on; old wounds rallied for  
revenge. I hoarded so much energy into my finger that my very soul seemed  
to reside within the pulsating, golden light.  
Sighing, Setsuna raised her staff, said, "A simple 'No' would've  
sufficed," and prepared for combat.  
I wished I had eyes in the back of my head because I would've loved to  
see HER eyes grow wide in surprise, perhaps the only time she ever was.  
Turning around, I unleashed the needle of energy toward the Crown  
arcade. It cut through the window pane like butter, leaving a tiny hole as  
evidence of its journey. The beam flew past Makoto's left shoulder,  
scurried the length of the booth's table and found... found... my heart.  
A time paradox exploded before me. My past was dying and my future  
remembered it.  
I felt me, myself, Minako lurch backward, clothes, skin, bone, artery,  
muscle skewered in one lightning strike. The initial penetration liberally  
splashed dots of red on all my friends and their food, akin to a bad  
Halloween decoration. Unoxygeniated blood flooded my ventricles as breaths  
came shorter and shorter. The blood which didn't make it into the heart  
chambers gushed out onto my uniform. A lung was hit too, evident by the  
bubbles of bodily fluids I exhaled.  
The room spun like a roulette wheel. My friends called my name like a  
bunch of gamblers screaming out their bets. I slumped onto Ami's lap, her  
horrific screams drowned out by my diminishing hearing.  
Tunneling. Everything tunneling, becoming smaller and smaller. I  
couldn't focus on anything because focusing took too much strength, so much  
strength it hurt. Thinking became a chore as exhaustion washed over me.  
Death's fingers clenched tighter around my throat, any remaining wisps of  
air forced out.  
  
The world was a bright speck in the darkness.  
I pulled myself toward the light, trying desperately to leave this  
cold, lifeless place.  
The light pulled away and I was alone.  
  
  
Alone without breath or pulse to keep me company.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I collapsed to the unseen floor and never got up.  
  
  
My vision returned to the roof across the street. Pillars in my mind  
fell like a house of cards, crushing memory after dreary memory. The sky  
clouded over, thunder exploded from the heavens - the newly opened  
paradox became even more unstable. My past self was dead and my future self  
stood within an earshot of my cooling corpse.  
Time loudly voiced its disapproval.  
My veins tore themselves apart, my very existence unraveling and  
contorting amidst this new revelation. Flesh blinked into and out of phase  
as the time stream tried to come to a decision whether or not it belonged  
on my bones. I had no solid form, instead, I rippled like water. Every  
crest sent small parts of myself away; every ebb drew in unwanted,  
unneeded, and unsightly particles.  
One second I burned.  
Another I froze.  
Then I imploded.  
After which I decayed.  
  
  
Crashing, crashing all over my  
memories. I remembered, yet I didn't.  
Something, sometime so long ago, I was part of something  
important. What was it? Oh yes,  
  
the Senshi.  
Why was I here? Wasn't  
I suppose to be in London? Oh, did I forget my lunch money?  
  
Ack, I'm late  
for the wedding!  
  
  
I reined in my thoughts, held onto them tightly because they were my  
only connection to this world. I knew perfectly what was going on: my past  
was being erased. If I didn't live for that millennium, if I wasn't there  
for the Senshi, then the future would not be. At least, not be what I  
remember it to be.  
No old Minako meant no present Minako.  
Simple but incredibly painful logic.  
The chaos winded down. The eye of the hurricane - that's where I was.  
Time was thrown off kilter by my actions, but it didn't fall: it was ready  
to correct the inconsistency. If time had a physical manifestation, I  
could've sworn it dove straight into me. In the same instant, I sped up and  
slowed down - past and present collided.  
My mind was being wiped clean. Events which happened didn't; events  
which did, I didn't know about because I was dead. Like a methodical  
computer, time analyzed all the sectors of my memory, decided they were all  
corrupted and proceeded to delete.  
  
  
Forget...  
  
  
The smiles and grins. Makoto playfully threw a burnt cookie at me; the  
projectile nearly knocked me out. Yet, despite my almost catatonic state, we  
laughed like two schoolgirls without a care in the world.  
Maybe it was because we were two schoolgirls.  
Not so much without a care in the world, but because we cared so much  
we saw something in everything - yes, that's why we laughed. While daemons  
descended across and we repelled them much to protest of our battered  
bodies, moments of unadulterated joy and simple bliss kept us afloat.  
I lived off of love - love for the world, love for my friends, love for  
life.  
I wondered how much of that love was real, but I dashed the thought.  
Those emotions were mine; I knew how I felt.  
  
  
Forget...  
  
  
The sleepless nights and quiet desperation. While Ami tutored, I  
groaned. All the head and heart ache for what? A job? A career? Sure, of  
course, if we made it through the day, but I wasn't too confident - not  
after the newest thrashing we received. How could she think about the  
future when our days seemed numbered? School wasn't high on the  
"I-Care-About-It" meter.  
I collapsed onto my desk in frustration. "How can you even study?"  
Calmly, she whispered, "Because I don't want to disappoint my family."  
Ami saw the confusion in me and gave the most brilliant answer possible. Her  
bookworming wasn't only for her mother or her friends which she would come  
to see as family, but rather, it was for herself. Studying was her anchor:  
good test scores meant a good education, a good education meant a good  
college, a good college meant a good career, and a career meant a future.  
She studied because she believed there would be a future that not only  
included her but also a true love and perhaps children. She cut through the  
shallow veil of present danger and peered toward the oncoming days,  
perfectly sure that it would be all right.  
Smiling, I refocused my attention and tried - but failed miserably -  
to share in the optimism.  
  
  
Forget...  
  
  
The many slurps and much shivering. I glanced at Rei, seeing her for  
the first time. She was so vulnerable, so strong, so innocent. I finally  
understood the pain of losing her world, of watching it slip by as she  
stood in the departing gale. Hate melted from my icy heart: I couldn't hold  
her accountable for a crime she was forced into perpetrating.  
Oh Rei, how I wished I had said more that night to comfort you. If  
anyone should be thrown to hell, it should be me for being a terrible,  
stubborn and blind friend. You lost your world and I was only there to poke  
that conspicuous vein in your forehead before going boy crazy.  
Then, for the splitest second, her eyes lit up (perhaps grateful for  
the normality, self-perceived support, or what have you) before the  
customary "Baka Mina!!!" adjourned by her anti-Usagi face leveled against  
me.  
The light still gleamed, and now I realized it always had, but I was  
too self absorbed to see.  
  
  
Forget...  
  
  
The honks and screams. Yes, I found that when the need arose, Haruka  
could scream like a girl. I happily wove her car into and out of oncoming  
traffic. A few times, she tried to commandeer the driver's seat, but a well  
placed hairpin turn threw her back into her seat.  
When I finally stopped back at her house, Haruka - peeling her  
white-knuckle bare fists from the top handle bars - growled, "Baka Mina!!!  
You are never touching my baby again, no how much you want to learn how to  
drive! Are you insane?!"  
Michiru stood at the front door, laughing hysterically.  
I knew what I did, how I did it, and who I did it to. As for the "why,"  
I shot my driver's-ed sensei a big grin and chirped, "Hai!"  
I laughed at the look of pure and utter disbelief on her face.  
Sometimes, I just needed to let go and be free; who better than the wind to  
show me how to do it?  
Perhaps that need was a sign of things to come.  
  
  
Forget...  
  
The pops and cheers. Usagi and Mamoru got married. We stood around them  
throwing rice, kisses and love. Minna screamed at the top of their lungs,  
tears of joy streaming down their faces: even Haruka got bleary eyed.  
Sweeping us off our feet, emotion escorted us to wherever it pleased.  
It heard no protest.  
Despite the world in shambles, we found a reason to be happy, to fight  
on, to have hope. Their union inspired us all to rally against the forces  
outside. If such beautiful, selfish yet selfless love existed, our duty was  
to protect it.  
  
  
Forget...  
  
The setting sun and the lazy dusk. As I stretched out upon my bed,  
Artemis stretched out on my stomach. Yellow rays of light highlighted our  
most prominent features - my golden hair and his whitened fur.  
Simultaneously, we shifted about and grunted slightly, both attempting to  
attain that perfect position. I grinned at him and he smiled back.  
No words were exchanged to fill the silence because another noise  
would've brought about another set of problems. We both understood that  
this was what we fought for - a quite, peaceful time of self-indulgent  
bliss. Yes, bliss for everyone, and we were having some well-deserved bliss  
ourselves.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Remember...  
  
Perhaps true happiness was the knowledge that everyone was happy. That  
way, there wouldn't be anything to worry about. But could heaven be thrust  
into our hands without an unhealthy smattering of hell?  
No. Nothing in the universe was freely given: in order to attain  
something, someone or something else must lose it. Capitalism, karma,  
balance - whatever we choose to call it, one's gain was another's loss,  
however minor. For Setsuna to freely give her brand of happiness to the  
world, she had to have taken it from someone.  
The Senshi. My friends. My family.  
Me.  
She collected my spilled blood and tears, tricked me into tasting - and  
liking - the bitterest fruit, hoarded my actions and emotions, leeched my  
life away. She used me like a battery to power her dreams. She made me  
shoulder the heaviest burdens.  
I would've freely done all of that if I was given a choice. But, like I  
said before, she didn't give me a choice: she raped my life. For once, I  
wanted to do something for myself and I couldn't have it because she made  
the decision for me, a decision I had no part in.  
What decision though?  
  
What unrepayable debt was withdrawn?  
  
  
What was I trying to remember?  
  
  
  
Why did I feel the way I did?  
  
  
  
  
Remember...  
  
That I had forgotten.  
"NO! I hadn't!"  
  
Remember...  
  
That I had once forgiven.  
"I refused to forgive! Refused to forget the pain, the lies, the chains,  
the shackles, the torture, the... the..."  
  
Remember...  
  
That I had no answer for feeling this way.  
  
  
  
Balance - maybe the world was more of a balance than I thought it was.  
In front of me stood the ultimate escape: the release of death and  
oblivion. Memories gave me pain, but still I insisted on holding on because  
they were my struggles, my pain.  
  
Balance - in order to get something, I must give something. I endured a  
millennium of unwitting torture, but why must I look to the past? The past  
was dead, so maybe it was time to let go, to release the built up pain and  
withdraw the considerable dividends of a life unlived. I would not continue  
to be Setsuna's battery.  
  
Balance - forgive and forget versus remember and retaliate. I tried  
forgiving, but I never forgot. I tried forgetting, but I never forgave.  
Never at the same time. When the conflagration of hatred subsided, I  
always kept a few embers to ignite the flames when the situation  
demanded. When I discarded those embers, raw emotion blazed out of control.  
  
  
  
It was time to let go. It might had been my pain, it might had been my  
prison, but happiness was also mine.  
  
I released my grip on my many scars.  
  
  
  
Hong Kong, England, Canada, Masks, Death, Crystal  
Tokyo, The Purging, Serenity, Endyimon, SmallLady,  
TheGreatWar, Wiseman,  
Mars,  
Pluto, Artemis,Venus,Uranus,Neptune,Saturn,Mercury,  
Jupiter,Moon,Luna,FriendsFamilyChildrenSmilingDeath  
WorldCollapsing  
NoOne  
CaringMeMyselfReiUsagiHotaruHaruka  
AmiMakotoMichiruChibi-UsaMamorugrandpasailorv  
  
  
mommydaddyhappynohoneyweregoingawaynow...  
  
  
  
  
As I grew lighter, no longer hindered by burdensome memories, I split  
into my two halves. They eyed each other conspicuously like long time  
enemies finally meeting face to face. Time had taken so much from them;  
life didn't even give them a chance. They were identical save for one  
thing: Minako loved the people, Venus loved the world. They had so much to  
give, but they lived in each other's shadows, forever and day jockeying for  
superiority within their domain like the failed governments Setsuna   
shunned.  
Aino Minako, meet Sailor Venus.  
Sailor Venus, meet Aino Minako.  
Perhaps misery did love company because they smiled warmly at each  
other. They embraced in a blinding flash of light, lifting me into heights  
unknown.  
For a second, I felt peace. True peace. The torrent of love-hate and  
hate-love subsided, my soul no longer at war with itself. Through their  
altruistic views, they grew to despise; through their hearts, they came to  
peace.   
I watched a millennium's toil bear the sweetest fruit. Suddenly,  
my trials and tribulations didn't seem so bad. I released my tenacious grip  
on my emotions and let them roam as they pleased.  
The weight of the world lifted away. No longer did I have to fight to  
be happy. I just was.  
That's what I was searching for. To just be.  
That was all I ever wanted to know.  
  
  
For a brief second before everything became nothing, I believed in  
happiness.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
No where, no when did this soul  
bear the pain she did.  
In her death, she found relese.  
Never will another think of her  
as one without country  
or purpose or happiness.  
They simply will not think of  
her or her  
great deeds,  
for while she endured she  
graced many more lives than  
she destroyed.  
  
  
Existence will never be the same.  
  
  
  
  
  
The End.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**************  
Author's Notes  
**************  
  
  
Many people contributed time, effort, encouragement and, most  
importantly, patience to make this story work. I want to take this little  
time to thank each and every one of you, and to say a last goodbye as I  
(hopefully) gracefully take my final bow on this great genre, great site,  
and great life.  
  
Bethany - My first editor and supporter. Her enthusiastic prompting gave  
me the confidence to write, continue, and finish "Clean." Although we  
haven't talked in ages, I relish the times we spent batting ideas back and  
forth, both helping each other become better writers. Without her, I  
wouldn't be here, writing these words.  
  
Black Beyond - My second editor. With her gracious comments, she put my  
butt back on track and forging on. In addition to her early support, she  
was the one who guided me into ff.net and introduced me to a huge world of  
literature. Thank you.  
  
The Legendary Redhawke - My staunchest supporter and harshest critic. Many  
times, his words have made me step back and reconsider how I shaped this  
story. His high standards and insistence for "something new and original"  
has been my compass for writing. Not to mention, TLR has been a great  
friend and wonderful spokesman. Don't think I've stopped lurking around on  
the ASMR board, man. I appreciate your kindness but can only offer you my  
gratitude in return. I'll never forget our friendship.  
  
Meara - I am humbled by Meara's dedication to cultivating the fragile,  
young author. Chapter after chapter, without fail, she has sent me glowing  
praises, proving once again that feedback is the source of an author's  
determination. She does this routinely for many, taking time to gently prod  
others along in order to expand their minds. What else can be said about  
such kindly acts except thank you?  
  
Andrea - To our beloved ASMR hostess who provides us a place to gather,  
discuss and exchange our various ideas. She has brought many of us together  
and continues to do so: her dedication to giving us ASMR is truly  
unparalleled.  
  
  
To a few friends and acquaintances:  
Aphrael - Great job on the board and highlights. You've done better than I  
ever could.  
His lordship Chaos - Thank you for the kind words, awesome fics, the  
various sneak peaks, and allowing me to stroke your massive ego :).  
Narie the Waitress - Trudge on, fellow moderator! I look forward to new  
fics from you, whenever they spontaneously appear.  
I Abibde (Everyone's favorite Mad Dwarf) - Thank you for that last email.  
Orchyd Constyne - When I was a moderator, you challenged me to serve the  
members better. As one of the few people (perhaps even only person) to do  
so, I can't thank you enough.  
  
  
And last, but certainly not least, to all the people who have put up  
with my tardiness in completing this fic. That's you reading this line  
right there! A writer is nothing without readers, and I'd be nothing  
without you.  
  
Thank you for your time. I hope this story fulfilled some of your  
expectations and gave you a few hours of enjoyment.  
  
-Don.  
  
1/14/02 


End file.
